


City(e)scape

by mariadperiad20



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, BAMF!Gwen, Complete, Eventual Happy Ending, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Miles is a Good KidTM, Nazis, PB needs sleep so badly smh, PTSD Noir, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Punching Nazis, Racist Language, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Torture, Violence, Whump, anti-Semitism, apparently? that's pretty exciting, not really but like negative thoughts?, tag anyway for safety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-10-04 17:07:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 42,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17308499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariadperiad20/pseuds/mariadperiad20
Summary: Sometimes, the city could be beautiful. Tonight, it was grimy, filthy, dark and treacherous. The roof Noir was perched on felt slimy, as if he would slip off of it if he wasn't holding on tight.In which Noir goes out to punch Nazis, but he's the one who ends up needing to be saved.





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes, the city could be beautiful. Tonight, it was grimy, filthy, dark and treacherous. The roof Noir was perched on felt slimy, as if he would slip off of it if he wasn't holding on tight. Noir wasn't holding onto anything.

The near-constant rain could be a beautiful drizzle, making dames hide under umbrellas held by their man, giggling and clutching at arms. Right now it was pouring, falling too fast to be soaked into the ground, instead running off down the road, flooding the sidewalks. Noir watched in mild interest as the water level rose towards the door of a pub. That one always flooded when it rained like this. The owner never did seem to have enough money to pay off his debts, though.

The people walking around outside, running from overhang to overhang, never seemed to notice the shadowed figure above them. Of course, no one in their right mind would look upwards when it's raining. Still, Noir could catch glimpses of their faces from his perch. White highlights illuminated their gray faces, giving definition and character to their faces. Smiling dames had lots of white on their faces around their cheeks. Scowling men had dark spots around the same areas.

Unfortunately, that white was not the kind Noir was currently looking for. Which was why he was currently on top of this grimy building, overlooking the city whose filth couldn't be washed away, no matter the amount of rain that poured down.

Noir used to hate this city. Now, he doesn't hate anything.

Sometimes, when Noir thinks about that, how he doesn't hate anything, he is filled with a sort of dread that closes around his throat and chest, compressing his very being. He thinks it is fear, but he can't be sure. He tries not to think about it anymore, though.

Noir spots his target, and pulls himself out of his thoughts. It is almost time to act, but he wants to wait just a few more moments. He wants to make sure he feels what happens next.

He wants to feel so badly that it almost hurts. Almost.

Noir swings from building to building, following behind the man in the gray trenchcoat with the white umbrella and the black insignia inked along the top of it.

Really, it would be harder to catch them if they didn't advertise who they were. There was almost no challenge to the hunt. Only the catch was of any real importance. And the sooner he caught them, the sooner he could be off doing what he really wanted to.

The man entered a building, and Noir slipped through a broken panel on the roof. So this was where the meeting was taking place. He considered burning it to the ground, just for something to do, but decided against it. He wanted to save the pyromatics for when he found the main base. Maybe then he would feel a sense of satisfaction.

They were speaking German. Noir didn't know it, but it didn't take an expert to understand the word "Hitler". Even so, the half-built bombs resting on tables beneath him did seem to give their core manifesto away.

The main speaker was still speaking German, a Nazi flag unfurled behind him. He appeared to be gesticulating something passionately, and the dozen or so other Nazi members were beginning to move towards the tables, most likely to resume their mechanical tasks.

Well, Noir reflected as he adjusted his gloves, maybe one of the bombs would be active. That could cause some excitement. A shot of adrenaline, maybe.

Noir dropped to the ground in front of the main speaker, spinning sharply and punching him square in the face. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Hmm, nothing yet.

Noir whirled to face the rest, his coat fluttering behind him. A few, three to be exact, dropped their tools and ran for the doors. A few shots of webbing pinned them down. Two surrendered immediately, dropping to their knees and putting their hands up. Noir webbed them down anyways, to keep them from escaping.

Six down, seven to go. Yawn.

The remaining Nazis rushed him, swinging their tools at him. Noir rolled out of the way, webbing one down with each hand as he did so.

Five left.

One of them lunged at him, pale gray face twisted into a hate-filled mask. Noir was happy to punch him in the face, then web him down too. Well, happy isn't the right word. He experienced a brief moment of satisfaction, perhaps.

That was promising.

Four left.

These ones had the sense to attack in a group, forcing Noir to web off the ground and swing back down behind them, taking out another two from the back. It was a weak move, he knew, but this was taking too long and he wanted to finish this in time to inspect the bombs before he was expected back.

The last two looked at each other, then dropped their tools and put their hands up. Noir shrugged, then punched them each in the face.

How anticlimactic.

Well, that was simple. Noir walked over to the tables, one of which had been capsized during the fight, knocking the materials all to the ground. Noir bent down to pick up a piece of twisted metal, noting the wires contraptions attached to it.

Suddenly, Noir's "spidey sense" sent a jolt of electricity down his spine. He rolled to the side just as a wrench slammed into where he had been crouching.

It was the leader. Of course, he had forgotten to web him. This would be inconvenient, to say the least. Noir shot a web towards the man, but he ducked, and it flew past him.

Noir was backing up, but soon he had run out of back to move. He pressed against the wall, then pulled to the side as the wrench imbedded itself in the wall where his head had been mere moments before.

Noir was running out of options, literally. His web fluid was running low, this Nazi seemed to suddenly have incredible dexterity and strength, and he wasn't sure how to win in this situation.

Oh. So this was fear. Noir cast his eyes upwards. Of course. If he could get up high, he could regain an advantage to take down wrench-Nazi. Down here, in hand-to-hand, Noir was barely keeping it even. Noir launched a web to a rafter, swinging up towards it. He heard a shout, and a whistling sound.

Blinding pain. His vision turned white, an he only recalled falling when he hit the ground. His head bounced off the concrete floor, filling the white pain void with splotches of gray. Noir vaguely knew he had to get out of there, but his hand wouldn't close around the web shooters. His entire right arm, actually, was numb. Well, numb except that it hurt, anyway.

The wrench-Nazi, now lacking in said wrench, pulled Noir's face up sharply, grinning. Noir's eyes couldn't focus on his face, and kept fuzzing in and out of the white void. The Nazi was saying something, but Noir couldn't really hear anything. It was all fuzzy and he couldn't concentrate, but everything hurt. The Nazi let go of him, and his head fell back down limply.

The Nazi laughed, then raised his boot, aiming it directly towards his chest, which was already heaving from the sudden new struggle to take in oxygen.

Noir wondered if he would feel anything else before he died.

Then the boot landed hard right on where his ribs met his sternum, and Noir had his answer.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, critique, compliment however you want.
> 
> If you want to request a prompt, send an ask to my tumblr (same name as my AO3)


	2. Chapter 2

Noir feels fuzzy. He tried to reach up, touch his aching head, but his arms do not move. He pulls on them for a few moments, not understanding what was wrong. He was sitting in a chair with broken armrests. Wait, no, he was tied to a chair with broken armrests. His arms were behind the back of the chair, and one leg was tied to each of the front legs.

Oh, right. The Nazis. Why would he have forgotten something as important as that?

Noir felt like he was moving in molasses, blinking several times as the world in front of him shifted around. Everything looked out of focus. His mask was still on, Noir noted, but his glasses were gone. That must be why everything looks so... disjointed. He clenched his hands, feeling the lack of a webshooter in his palm. Noir felt like that was important, somehow, but he couldn't remember why.

He should probably try to escape.

Noir fiddled with the ropes that bound his wrists together, but his fingers kept slipping around, losing their grip. He slowly became aware of a strange feeling in his right arm as he twists his wrists around. The moment he notices it, however, it begins pulsing with increasingly painful waves of pain. Noir sucked in a breath, or tried to, anyway, but that send black spots splashing across his vision as his chest decided to suddenly alert him to the fact that it hurt to breathe.

Noir's gasp of pain, however much he tried to stifle it, seemed to have alerted someone to his being awake. The shapes in front of him were moving around more, now, and made him feel sick to look at it. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the motion.

A hand grabbed under his chin, dragging his face up. Noir pried his eyes open, wanting to see his enemy in the face. The Nazi's face swam in and out of focus, and it made Noir feel even more disoriented.

The Nazi grinned widely, then began speaking. "On behalf of the National Socialist Worker's Party, I, Commander Gerhard Fisch, am honored to have brought down one who opposes..."

Noir's eyebrows furrowed. "Y're nota Commder, y'd be in Gerny." He was vaguely aware that the words sounded wrong, but before he could process it fully, the Nazi in front of him moved. Like a skipping track, the figure seemed to move in jumps and starts as their hand hit him square across the face.

Noir's head whipped to the side, making the pounding in his head so much worse. His entire body seemed to have been jolted, sending new pain alerts throughout his body.

Fisch hauled Noir forward slightly, so that his arms were strained behind him even further. Their faces were so close Noir could see the stubble on his neck. Huh. Guess Nazis shaved, too.

"Once I report to my superiors that I have captured a Yankee, I'll be promoted to commander, and you'll be demoted to corpse. Got that?" Fisch snarled.

Noir blinked a few more times, as the words distorted in his head. The lack of an answer seemed to upset Fisch, who slammed Noir back into the chair with a sigh.

"You know, it's a shame, really. I always thought we could use someone like you." Fisch said, slowly rolling up his sleeves. He touched his armband almost reverently. "This here, it's a gift that too many do not appreciate. We will cleanse the world. People like me, we're the first line of defense against the mass of scum. Scum like you."

Fisch hooked a hand under the edge of Noir's mask, pulling it off in one smooth motion.

"That's a no-no." Noir said instinctively, even as the too-cold air hit his face sharply.

Fisch whistled, peering at Noir's scarred face. "Damn. This whole time, I was hoping you'd be a kike or something, so I wouldn't feel bad about killing you. Guess it makes sense though, huh," Fisch turned the mask over in his hands, eyes fixed on Noir's face, "Only a true man, an Aryan man, would be able to take out my men."

"Anyone could take out your 'men', Fisch. They hardly classify as men at all. More like boys-" Noir was cut off as Fisch hit him across the face. Again.

"Slapping me... is hardly... the most productive way of killing me." Noir finally gasped out, trying to carefully enunciate each word. Maybe if Mr. 'Commander' Gerhald Fisch would hurry up and shoot him, this pounding, aching sore of an existence called his life would come to an end.

Dying at the hands of a Nazi. He'd always figured it was how he'd go out, but he'd imagined it with fists flying, taking down as many of them with him as he could. Not trussed up like an animal for slaughter, defenseless and waiting to be killed at the whim of a captor.

How humiliating.

Fisch was speaking again, but Noir couldn't focus on the words. His ears were ringing. It reminded him of the time a firework had exploded down on Lincoln Street. It had shook the buildings, and he couldn't hear anything for days afterwards.

Noir eventually noticed that Fisch had stopped speaking, because his mouth had stopped moving. He seemed to be waiting for an answer. Again. Still, Noir's answer didn't really need a question in the first place.

"Screw you."

Noir's moment of satisfaction at watching the face in front of him contort into rage was well worth whatever would come next.

... Well, as Fisch brandished what appeared to be a metal club, Noir questioned that decision.

In for a penny, in for a pound. A pound of metal hitting his chest like a baseball bat, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with how this came out? I wanted to have Noir w/ a concussion, but I didn't want to make anything too graphic. Plot will be happening soon I promise.
> 
> As always, comment, critique, compliment, whatever you want.


	3. Chapter 3

When his parents had died, they were buried without ceremony out at the Church. It rained then, just like it always did. Their coffins, oh so generously paid for by the parish, had been lowered into the muddy ground with no fanfare. No one really cared about the Parkers, anyway. They didn't hold any office, weren't a part of any blood feud, they were just... the Parkers. That family that would show up to Church on Sundays and not stay around for the coffee afterwards. They merely existed in a space until there was no space left, anymore.

Their boy, the one with the holes in his shoes and no jacket to shield himself from the rain, was no one. He did not matter to the world any more than the dead man and woman inside boxes in the dirt. The dead, at least, didn't have to worry about food.

They were with God now.

Good for them. But who was going to be with him, now?

Turns out it was his Aunt May and Uncle Ben that took him in. They hadn't gone to the funeral.

Uncle Ben, he was someone. He was well-known, well-liked. He didn't hold any office, but had a bit of power. He would always stay after Church for coffee, too. He worked at the factory, and was the Union Head. He got all of the workers in the Union a 50 cent raise. So Ben Parker was someone.

Aunt May, she was someone, too. She was the husband of Uncle Ben, after all. She would knit clothes, blankets, anything and everything she could. She would always give them away, too. She had a good heart. She would always gave it away to others, piece by piece until there was no heart left. So Aunt May was someone, or at least she was for a while.

The Parker boy, the boy who was no one, made his way through the world with his head down, never glancing up to see the world. There was nothing for him, there. He was nothing to the world, and the world was nothing to him.

What else was there?

After Uncle Ben... well, Aunt May's heart finally did run out. She would knit and knit, but then undo everything and start over. She never could quite seem to finish any of her work. Not even for him. So, he learned how to knit. He would make his own clothes, since Aunt May wouldn't - no, couldn't- anymore.

Uncle Ben's funeral had more people there. The parish had given him a nicer coffin. It had still rained, though. And his space had not run out. It had existed, empty, devoid of meaning. In the end, it was still another body encased in wood in the muddy ground. Aunt May and the boy, now almost a man, stayed for coffee.

After that, well, the world still thought nothing of this Parker boy. But he could no longer ignore the world, either. There was no place for him, anywhere.

So, he created a place.

He become a private eye, and did his thing. Save the pretty girl, catch the embezzler, all of that jazz.

Peter Parker became a somebody. A somebody to be sought out in a dark bar with a sultry smile and lipstick lips and a whispered, "I need your help". A promise of money, an offer of lips and hands and bodies combining and touching and moving as one. A gloved hand sliding documents across the counter for him to open and glance at, and then look over once they were gone.

A promise that he would save them.

Peter Parker was somebody. He had a place in this world. Not a big one, maybe, but there was one. When he was a body in the ground, his space would be swallowed up just like his parents. Not like Uncle Ben, no, Uncle Ben meant something for the future. Peter Parker just meant something for right now, while he was alive.

Spider Man, well, that had nothing to do with the Parker boy whose parents were buried alone, or his Uncle who was buried with friends, or his Aunt who just kept knitting and reknitting the same blanket over and over again, in that same pattern her husband used to like so much.

Spider Man never had a space to begin with, and there was no more space to create. Spider Man crept up onto others' space, trying to squeeze in and make room for himself. He lodged into people's worlds, and refused to budge.

There will be no place in the cemetery for Spider Man.

Spider Man didn't have a space to be filled.

Noir wondered whether or not he would have a coffin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a procrastination to not write the next actual chapter?
> 
> Yes. Yes it is.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter B. Parker was mildly concerned.

The weekly gathering of the Spider-team had been one night ago. Obviously, with hectic schedules, not everyone could make it every time. Peni missed the one before, citing company vacation day policy, and Ham had missed the one before that, due to his running low on anvils. Even he had missed a couple of meets, although those circumstances were... extenuating. But still, Noir had never missed a meet. He was always there, in his quiet, morose way, drinking in the camaraderie like a man dying of thirst.

It was at Miles' Aunt May's place, same as usual. She never said anything about it, but Peter was pretty sure she got lonely, not having anyone around. So, they always tried to schedule it there, unless something came up in Miles' world. Noir loved spending time with Aunt May, was always helping her around the house. Apparently, he came around even on off days to check up on her.

Peter knew something was... off... with Noir's Aunt May. He'd never heard him mention her, ever, to anyone. Peter assumed it was because she had died. Noir's universe had a funny-not-funny way of constantly killing people off. Either way, Peter didn't want to mention it, because he knew if he brought it up, Noir would stop visiting May altogether.

So, to have Noir pass up an opportunity to hang out, plus talk with Aunt May, plus the fact that everyone *always* gave a reason for why they weren't coming that day, made Peter mildly concerned.

Okay, a lot concerned.

He had tried to reach out, but Noir hadn't answered the interdimensional call. Not when the party was about to start and Peter wondered if they should wait for him, not halfway through when Peter felt anxious about leaving him out, not the morning after when Peter began to worry, not five minutes after that because he was starting to get concerned.

Peter fiddled with his fancy-magic phone that Peni had rigged up, and weighed in on calling again. Noir was probably busy, he reasoned. Working a case, going undercover. Hell, maybe he just wanted to be left alone, and Peter's pestering was getting on his nerves.

Heh. Peter did have a tendency to do that, didn't he.

The others hadn't seemed to concerned, blowing it off as work or, as Gwen pointed out, a lovely lady to keep him company.

Peter sighed, sticking the phone back into his pocket. He'd call later, and then, if it was still radio silent, swing by and see if Noir was alright. He was being irrational, he knew. Spiderpeople had to go off grid all the time. Noir more than others, probably. Still, he couldn't shake this sinking feeling that something was wrong.

Peter promised himself he wouldn't check up on Noir yet. Give him some time, he's just busy. He'd call him that night. No biggie.

Time had never passed so slowly. Peter wandered around aimlessly, checking the clock every few minutes. The phone felt heavy in his pocket, and he couldn't get his mind off of Noir. Somehow, someway, he knew something was wrong.

Peter didn't make it to nighttime. In fact, he didn't even make the hour-mark before he had pulled out the phone, and dialed up Noir.

It rang in his ear, and then beeped.

"... Oh! It's blinking. Peter speaki-or well- uh- Noir, I suppo- _beep_ "

Peter felt a little smile twitch at his lips. Noir had a way of doing that. As did the whole Spiderteam, of course, since that was what he meant.

"Hey man, it's me. PB. You missed our date night. Not cool. Swing on over if you can. Or send a message, yeah? I'm- We're all getting kinda worried about you. Yeah. So, uh... bye."

Peter stared at the phone, as if willing it to ring in his hand. It did not.

Somehow, he had thought calling would have made him feel better. It did not.

He told himself to calm down, that there was no need to worry. He did not.

Noir could take care of himself. He wouldn't want Peter - full of color and modernity - to come bursting into his universe. Noir would be upset, Peter was sure. But Peter was more than a little concerned, now.

It only took him a few seconds to make a decision. He wanted to make sure Noir was safe, regardless of how much Noir would dislike him for it.

Besides, if Noir doesn't like him, so what? Pretty much everyone he knows can't stand him. Noir... Noir would be no different.

Yeah. It would be fine.

Peter opens up a portal, takes a breath and wills his nerves to calm, and jumps through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, I know. It all goes down next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

When Peter stepped through the portal, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. Noir had never let any of them enter his universe, claiming that their appearances would upset the people. Peter had always figured that Noir was more concerned with them seeing his world than his world seeing them, but he never pushed on it.

It wouldn't have been safe for the kids to come here, anyway.

The portal melted away, leaving Peter standing in the middle of a dark alley. Rain was pouring down from a dark gray sky, and he was nearly instantly soaked. The lightpost at the end of the alley was flickering, casting a white glow onto the filthy dumpster beneath it.

Peter shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, pulling it over and hoping it would hide his mask. He had put gray clothes over his suit, hopefully so he could blend in a little more. Regardless of Noir's intentions in not wanting them in his universe, there was no point in traumatizing passerby if he could help it.

Peter shot out a web, swinging on top of the building to his left, before walking across it and peering out over the city. Noir didn't talk much about his universe, but he did mention MJ's bar a few times. Maybe he could head over there and see if she knew anyth-

Huh. Peter could see smoke rising in the distance, the faint wail of police sirens echoing through the city. He turned away from it, considering. His priority was finding Noir. Still, if Noir was around, wouldn't he be headed over there?

Peter shook his head for a moment, exasperated, before webbing his way over. If it turned out Noir was just screwing around, he'd be annoyed. Well, actually, Peter admitted, he'd be relieved.

But also annoyed. For making him worry.

Peter swung down, dropping through a small, broken window into the rafters. Beneath him, there were several ... Nazis?

Noir had said he fought Nazis, and it made sense to Peter logically, but to see _actual_ Nazis was... disturbing.

Said Nazis were in various levels of consciousness, most of them webbed up already. A couple of spots looked like someone had tried to get them out, but the webs wouldn't break. The thing sending off the smoke, Peter realized, was a raging, but thankfully contained, mass of twisted metal. What it was supposed to be, Peter had no clue.

Whatever Noir had done, he had clearly done it well. Peter must have just missed him, so he decided to head back outside again. He stood up, but froze as he noticed... something unusual. A glistening of metal, and a disturbed pool of black liquid.

Peter dropped down, ignoring the muffled gasps of the Nazis still webbed up. It looked like the police weren't coming inside yet, probably outside waiting for something to cut the webs with. So he didn't have to worry about them, good.

Peter crouched down, inspecting the metal, which turned out to be a wrench. It was covered in that same black liquid. Peter reached out, touching it.

He pulled back, stifling any noise from escaping his mouth. No matter the dimension, no matter the color, blood was always recognizable.

Peter started to get a sinking feeling. This much blood... it wasn't exactly a good thing. Peter's eyes tracked the edge of the pool where it tracked off, and spotted drops, almost imperceptible with how the floor blended it in.

Peter heard a laugh. He turned his head sharply, fixing his face levelly on one on of the Nazis. He had a bloody nose, and was webbed to the wall, but was grinning like a maniac.

"You the cleanup crew?" He asked, smirking. His mouth was bloody, too.

Peter didn't remember moving, but suddenly he was right in front of the guy, leaning in real close.

"What happened here?" Peter kept his voice deadly calm, despite his rising adrenaline.

The Nazi grinned wider. "You mean you don't know?"

"Know _what_?" Peter slammed his fist next to the Nazi.

"Are you a man of science?" He asked suddenly.

"I- what?"

"Darwin taught us, only by adapting can the best survive. Yet here you are, helping those who do not deserve it. Those who do not adapt do not have the right to survive. You Americans, you're all the same. Protecting the Jews, the decrepit, the-"

Peter punched the wall. "Tell me where Spider-Man is, or I will rip you limb from limb. If it turns out you lied, I'll come back and remove your tongue."

The Nazi nodded. "See? This is proper use of your prowess. A true Aryan."

Peter didn't respond.

"Our glorious Commander Fisch apprehended that Yankee. He took him to the warehouse couple blocks from here, over on Washington. He's gonna take every setback that bastard's caused us out of his hide. Then, well," The Nazi laughed, "If there's anything left of him, he'll toss the body out for the dogs."

Peter's blood ran cold. Noir. Noir was in danger. Possibly already dead. No. Not dead. Not yet. He couldn't be.

The Nazi shrugged. "You're welcome to try. It would be a shame for a strong one like you to die, though. You're a prime example of Darwinism at its finest."

Peter pulled up the lower half of his mask, scowling. "I'm Jewish, you fucker."

Peter'd always wanted to punch a Nazi. Still, he didn't really take the time to enjoy it this round.

Within moments, the Nazi was out cold, and Peter was sprinting outside, ignoring the shocked shouts of the police, webbing into the air and swinging away.

His only thought was of Noir, and his only prayer was that he would be alive by the time he got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no meme or joke to reference but comment anyway. Blease?
> 
> Also I'm going to TBH here: writing Nazis makes me feel really gross and it is super NOT fun for me to do, so please note that I think Nazis are bad and should all get punched.
> 
> Also, as I'm sure you smarties know, the Nazi is talking about Social Darwinism. This has been completely and totally disproved, but in the '30s it was believed (aka used as an excuse to be racist).


	6. Chapter 6

Peter slammed through this warehouse window with a crash, sending shards of glass raining down around him. He landed in the middle of the floor, spinning around to zero in on the man he was there for.

Noir... Peter felt sick. This was...

Noir was tied to a chair, mask gone. His face was bruised and bloody, with a busted, split lip. The front of his costume was ripped, and blood was oozing out from every inch of his chest. His head was tilted forwards, but Peter could see what looked like burn marks on his neck. Peter could barely recognize him, he was so soaked in black.

Peter rushed over, dropping to his knees in front of him. Noir's eyes were closed, and his breathing ragged.

"Noir?"

He didn't respond, so Peter reached down, and began untying the restraints around his legs. "I'll get you out of here, Noir. Get you home. How does that sound, yeah?"

Peter's spidey sense went off, and he turned in time to duck- no, not duck, if he ducked it would hit Noir, he couldn't duck.

Whatever it was hit Peter in the side of the head, sending him skidding across the ground. Peter felt pain burst in the side of his head, and his vision spotted. But just for a moment. Peter scrambled to his feet, angling his body so he was still in-between Noir and the assailant. He couldn't let them get at Noir. He couldn't. The person swung at him again.

Peter caught the weapon - a metal bat - with one hand, ripping it from this- this- this _bastard's_ hands. Peter broke it in half, and threw the pieces over his shoulder. They clattered off somewhere, but Peter kept his eyes fixed on Fisch's face. The man was pale, probably paler than usual, Peter noted with some degree of satisfaction.

But mostly Peter was just angry. He grabbed Fisch's shirt with his left hand, and his right fist met his face over and over and over. Fisch kicked Peter in the knee, wrenching himself out of Peter's grip and backing up a few steps.

Fisch spat the blood out of his mouth, looking up at Peter. He wasn't smiling, unlike the other guy. He pulled out a gun. Of course it was a gun. It was always a gun.

Peter webbed it into his own hand before the guy had even finished pulling it out, unloaded it, and threw it aside.

"You hurt Noir. You hurt him." Peter growled. "I will destroy you."

When Fisch spoke, he had a heavy German accent. It was probably put on for effect. No one actually talked like that.

"I am proud to serve-"

"Okay, stop. Just... stop. I'm here to stop you, not listen to you blather." Peter interrupted. He needed to kill-er, knock out- this guy fast, so he could get Noir someplace safe. He had to protect Noir.

So, without further ado, Peter launched himself at Fisch. Fisch tried to dodge, but Peter just stretched out an arm and grabbed around his throat, throwing him to the ground. Fisch rolled away, landing a few punches on Peter's side, but he barely registered them.

Peter shot out a web, catching Fisch's ankle and dragging him back to the ground, pulling him in. Another few webs had him trapped, and Peter stood there, seething. He knew now that Fisch was stopped, he should help Noir. Help Noir now.

But still... Peter wanted to kill Fisch. He really, really wanted to hurt him. Like he'd hurt Noir.

Peter punched Fisch once. And then again. And again. At some point, he started kicking him, too.

Peter was screaming, he thinks. Something guttural and inhuman. Or was that coming from Fisch? He wasn't really sure, and he didn't really care. All he saw was red. And he wanted to make every drop of Fisch's blood be on the floor.

Peter was gearing up for himself for another punch to Fisch's now-motionless body, when he heard a gasping, ragged breath from behind him. Peter froze, bloody knuckles inches from Fisch's face, and turned around.

Noir was awake. And he was staring at Peter with wide, terrified eyes.

Peter snapped out of it, looking first at Noir, then at his blood-covered hands. Peter dropped them, wiping them off on Fisch's mangled uniform, not bothering to check for a pulse. The guy was alive, barely. Peter wasn't sure if he was happy or disappointed. But he didn't have time for that now.

His priority was Noir.

Peter got to his feet and hurried towards Noir, who sat stock-still, eyes tracking Peter warily.

"Noir, thank God you're awake. I was worried. Let me check your pulse." Peter said, reaching out to touch Noir's neck.

Noir flinched back. Hard. His back slammed into the back of the chair, making it creak, while Noir looked like he was choking back a groan.

Peter snapped his hand back towards himself, mouth going dry. Noir would rather hurt himself than be touched by him. Noir was scared of him.

...Noir was scared of him...

Of course Noir was scared of him. Noir had just seen him beat a guy half to death. More than half, actually. He was probably out of his mind with pain, and Peter... Peter was hurting this guy the way Noir had been hurt.

Peter was being selfish again. He wanted Fisch to suffer and now... now the only person who was being hurt by it was Noir. This time, Peter couldn't even punch the guy who had caused it.

Shit.

Peter put down his hood, and pulled off his mask. "Hey, Noir. It's just me. It's Peter. You know, the one who smuggles you the good coffee?"

Peter was hoping Noir would recognize him, react in some way.

He didn't.

"Uh... the one who you said belonged in a Hooverville? The one who set Gwen's kitchen on fire that one time?"

Noir just kept staring at him with those distrustful, yet fearful, eyes. It made Peter's heart break, to see Noir looking at him like this. It was too much to bear.

"Noir, please. It's... it's Peter." Peter felt his eyes fill with tears. He couldn't wipe them away, he didn't want the movement to scare Noir any more than he already was. He couldn't scare Noir. He couldn't hurt Noir. Not anymore than he already had, anyway.

Huh. Peter had started crying.

"Peter?"

Noir's voice was rough and scratchy, hoarse from screaming. Peter had never heard any voice more beautiful than this one right now. Peter instantly snapped back into action mode. He could hate himself later, right now he could help Noir.

"Yeah, it's Peter. I'm here to get you safe, okay?" Peter asked.

Noir nodded shortly, but didn't respond other than that.

"So, I'm gonna untie your legs first, okay? 'Cause we're gonna need to walk outta here fast." Peter narrated his actions to Noir, who, despite _seemingly_ knowing Peter, was tense and clearly on edge. Peter managed to get both his legs free, and grimaced at the sight of Noir's arms. He hadn't noticed them at first, but now... his right arm was all twisted up, in a way that did not look right. His arm appeared as if it had been broken, but it as all bent up in the restraints.

Peter's hands hovered over Noir's wrists. "This, uh, this might hurt, Noir. Let me know if you... if you need me to stop."

The fact that Noir didn't cry out was both comforting - see, Peter, you're not hurting him too much -, and absolutely horrifying - he's already been hurt so much this is no big deal, he can't even scream anymore probably, he's in so much pain this doesn't even register-, but either way Peter tried to free it as gently as possible.

Finally, after an eternity, the ropes fell, and Noir brought his left arm around to the front. His right arm stayed where it was though, hanging limp by his side.

"Come on, we gotta go." Peter said, trying to urge Noir up. He didn't want Noir to stay here any longer than he had to. Not when the whole warehouse reeked of blood and pain.

Noir shakily stood, Peter reaching out to steady him. Noir stepped back, away from his grip, nearly losing his balance, head spinning. Peter did grab him, then, righting him up. Noir tried to push him away, mind screaming at him to _not let them hurt you_ , but his body was too weak and all he could do is paw weakly at Peter's jacket.

"I know, I know," Peter said gently, "I know you don't like it, it's just for a moment to get you through the portal." Peter wasn't sure if Noir could hear him, but he kept talking anyway. "I know, I know, it'll be okay soon. I'll let go of you in a minute okay? And then I won't touch you anymore I promise. I just don't want you to fall or get hurt, okay?"

Anything to make Noir feel safer was his number one priority.

Peter opened a portal to his dimension, then hesitated. Noir had never been to his world, before. It would probably make him feel better if he went someplace familiar, someplace comforting. Miles' dimension would be best. Maybe Aunt May could help.

Peter switched the portal to Miles', and guided Noir through beside him. He didn't even spare a glance to the man that lay on the ground behind them. Whether he lived or died was no longer of any concern to Peter.

As the portal swirled closed behind them, Peter finally knew Noir that would be safe. Now he just had to worry about keeping him alive.

The idea that Noir could do anything else was out of the question. Peter refused to even consider it. Noir would not die.

He can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment (if you want): What do you think abt PB in this chapter? I need to gauge audience response on if they agree with his actions and why.
> 
> hghh i published this chapter early because i was bored. validate my decision.


	7. Chapter 7

Peter stepped through the portal, practically dragging Noir with him. He carefully let Noir down onto the couch, who collapsed against it. His body went limp, but his head stayed upright, watching Peter warily.

"May!" Peter shouted over his shoulder, "I need you, now!"

Noir winced at the noise, and Peter immediately cut himself off.

There was the sound of someone approaching, and then the door flew open, slamming back against its hinges. Aunt May burst in, kitchen knife in hand, wielding it in front of her body. She went still at the sight before her, dropping her hand to her side, knife falling to the ground with a clatter.

"Peter? What happened?" She asked, even as she approached Noir.

Peter's tongue felt heavy. "He was... he was..." Peter swallowed hard. "He was captured by Nazis. They tortured... they..." Peter felt his throat close off, and his eyes pricked with tears.

May's face went pale, but maintained composure. She reached out, patting Peter a couple of times on the knee comfortingly. "It's okay, Peter. Thank you for telling me."

May held out her hand, palm upturned, extended towards Noir. "Noir, it's Aunt May. I'm glad to see you again."

Noir blinked, turning his head slightly. His eyes fixed on May's hand, occasionally flitting up to her face.

"What? It gets boring around here. It's good to have your company. Now, c'mon, my hand's getting all cold."

Noir made a motion with his right arm, then hissed in pain, switching to take Aunt May's hand with his left one.

Aunt May smiled gently. "Thank you, Noir." Without taking her eyes off of him, she told Peter. The landline is over by the desk. Call 911, would you?" Peter nodded, beginning to back away towards the phone. The minute he moved, however, Noir's eyes flashed up, fixing on Peter, tension written on every line of his body.

Aunt May rubbed circles on the back of Noir's hand soothingly. "Don't worry about Peter. He's just getting some help for you, okay?"

Noir jolted into a more upright position, shaking his head vehemently. He choked out, "No hospitals", hand spasming in May's light grip. He didn't let go of her, though.

"Okay, Noir, we won't. Peter, call... Miles' mother. She's a nurse, right? See if she'll come over."

"She doesn't know that Miles is-"

"I know. I have her number." Aunt May chuckled at Peter's expression. "I always have the contacts for people I care about, Peter."

Peter picked up the phone, dialing the numbers Aunt May listed out, in the same soft voice she'd used the entire time. Noir was watching Peter like a hawk.

Well, more like the rabbit being hunted by a hawk, actually.

The voice that picked up on the other side of the line was a sweet, warm voice, albeit a tired one. "¡Hola May! It is so lovely to hear of you! Are you still trying to get ahold of my chicken molé recipe? Because I told you-"

"Mrs. Morales!" Peter interrupted, "We need your help."

"What happened?"

"We have Noi- we have Spiderman here. We need your help to save him. Please, come now."

"Where's May?" Peter could hear movement on the other side of the line.

"She's taking care of him right now." Peter never took his eyes off of Noir, who was still staring at him. Aunt May was now holding his hand with both of hers, and she was speaking quietly to Noir, voice so low that Peter couldn't hear it.

"I'm on my way. I will arrive shortly." Morales paused. "I'm bringing everything I have, but I expect a full report when I get there." The phone line beeped, then let out a dial tone, letting Peter know that she had hung up.

Good. It meant she would get here faster.

Peter was going to walk back over to Noir, but hesitated.

Noir hadn't been comfortable with him. Had been afraid of him. He couldn't bear his touch, and was currently watching Peter like he was about to whip out a grenade.

Aunt May had this under control. Maybe if he left, it would make Noir feel more comfortable.

Peter walked to the door Aunt May had kicked down, scooping up the knife she had dropped and placing it on a desk by the phone. He should have put it back in the kitchen, he knew, but he didn't want to lift the knife and risk scaring Noir.

He didn't want Noir to look at him like _that_ again. Like he had before.

"Where's the first aid kit?" Peter asked Aunt May, hovering against the wall. Far away from Noir. He couldn't threaten Noir if he wasn't close to him, right?

"It's in the bathroom, under the sink. Get it, and some damp cloths too, please."

Aunt May. She always understood Peters.

Peter gratefully hurried out of the door, reaching the bathroom quickly, dropping to his knees and digging through the cabinet. He pulled out the kit, and shoved some washcloths under the sink, running the tap lukewarm.

On the one hand, he desperately wanted to stay away from all of this, to give Noir the space he needed to not be afraid. On the other, Peter was terrified to leave Noir alone. If Noir were to get worse, or feel threatened, and Peter wasn't there to protect him...

Either way, Peter would risk hurting Noir.

And he would rather die, give up the suit, whatever, anything, than cause Noir to feel afraid of him.

And yet here he was, hiding out in a bathroom because he couldn't handle it.

Peter scooped up his conquested items, hurrying back to the living room.

When he entered, he saw Noir shaking, hunched in on himself. He had let go of Aunt May's hand.

Peter felt fear rise in his throat. No.

Peter stepped forward automatically, but Noir, for once, didn't look up to watch him. Somehow, that was more unsettling than Noir's constant gaze. Peter knelt down next to May, dropping everything down next to her.

"What happened?" Peter asked quietly.

Aunt May sighed. "I don't know. The minute you left he started panicking."

Peter tried mirroring Aunt May's actions from before. He tilted his hand upwards, reaching out towards Noir. "Noir, it's me. Peter. Are you okay?"

Noir's head shot up, staring hard at Peter. He was still shaking, and made no move to reach out.

Peter kept his hand open, an invitation for Noir.

The shaking died down, and Noir seemed to slowly unfold, as much as he could, anyway. He didn't touch Peter, but moved his head a little. Whether it was a nod or a request to move Peter wasn't sure.

Before Peter could react one way or another, however, the doorbell rang. Aunt May got up. "I'll get it. It's Morales."

Aunt May left, leaving Noir and Peter alone.

Noir was watching Peter again, watching the open hand. Peter was watching he uneven rise and fall of Noir's chest, the way every breath seemed to be a struggle, the way his right arm was still hanging oh so uselessly.

There was just so much damage, so much suffering.

Peter could barely even comprehend it, let alone conceive how it must feel. He opened his mouth, to say what he didn't know.

Footsteps returned, followed by another pair, and then Mrs. Morales was standing inside the room, bag in hand. And Noir started shaking once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments give me fuel, fuel gives me motivation.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW warning for needles. if you want to skip, control/command F to "Dios ayudarte." It'll skip right past it :)

Morales froze in the doorway, staring at the monochrome figure hunched over on the couch. But only for a moment. Her features smoothed into a detached, professional look, and she followed in behind May. A duffle bag was slung over her shoulder, and clutched in her hand.

Peter could only assume it was full of medical equipment, and his suspicions were confirmed when she put it on the carpeted floor, unzipping it to reveal a mass of tools and white gauze.

Morales looked over Noir, grimacing. He was curled up on himself, covered in black. "This isn't going to work. I can't see anything. Get him lying down."

Peter stared at her. He couldn't just... make Noir do anything. Noir was already afraid.

She looked at him, frowning further. "Do it!"

"Oh! He doesn't... um..."

"If you can't help, then back off. ¿Comprendes?" Morales snapped back.

Peter hesitated, then stood up, dropping his outstretched arm, backing away from Noir. He couldn't help him.

As Peter moved, Noir began to shake harder, his breath coming out in gasps. His chest was heaving, and more black began to leak out through the, already soaked, shirt. His left arm tucked around his body, trying to press against his ribs.

Morales grabbed his arm, pulling it back down to its side. Careful, but firm. "No, no, don't do that sweetie. Come on, keep it here." She turned to May. "Has he done this before?"

"Yes. The minute Peter left." May said briskly, not missing a beat.

Morales muttered something under her breath, then sighed. "Alright then. Peter, make him lie down."

"I-"

May put a hand on his shoulder. "Peter, please, just try." She looked a hell of a lot calmer than Peter felt, that was for sure. But he didn't really have a choice now, did he?

Peter swallowed, then approached Noir again. Noir's breathing calmed slightly, his shaking diminished, but he looked more rigid than ever before. Every muscle in his body was tensed, ready to fight or run or _something_.

"Noir, can you lay down for me, please? Morales needs to look you over, okay?" Peter made his voice soft, quiet.

Noir tilted his head slightly, looking at the couch cushions, but didn't move.

"Noir. Lay down, okay? On the couch."

"... I'll... get blood... on..." Noir said a word with each raspy breath.

"Oh I don't care about that." May waved her hand, behind Peter somewhere. "Just lie down, alright?"

Noir slowly twisted and shifted his body, sliding himself down to lay on the couch. His legs were too long, and stuck out over the end by a few inches.

It would have been cute, Peter reflected, if only the situation was different. Well, not cute. Funny, funny was the word he had been thinking of. Of course.

Noir was panting from the effort of moving, his right arm now cradled against the back of the couch. His left, his working arm, was towards the rest of them.

So he could fight them if he had to.

Peter knew he would do the same thing, but it hurt in a way he hadn't expected nonetheless.

Morales had snapped on gloves at some point, and was now pulling out a pair of scissors.

"We need to cut him out of that outfit. The wounds will clot with it attached, and it's not sanitary."

Noir's costume front was a mess, sliced edges vanishing in with the black blood that bloomed across his skin. Peter couldn't tell where the shirt ended and the injuries began.

As Rio moved to cut through the cloth, Noir jerked up, hand flailing out to try to punch her. It would have landed, too, but she managed to dodge it in time. Instinct probably, an immediate reaction from her job. All three of them had to dodge punches to help people. Except, of course, she never threw one. Morales carefully put down the scissors, pulling out a syringe, and a bottle of something liquid. Drugs.

"Peter, hold him down." She was filling up the syringe.

"What? No!"

Morales turned to glare at Peter, dark eyes flashing. "Look. At the hospital, we can sedate people normally. But since you're not taking him to a hospital, I have to make do. So hold him still, or else I won't be able to help him." Her voice went a touch lower, a bit sadder. "I refuse to let anyone suffer when I can do something about it."

Peter couldn't look her in the eyes. She was right, of course she was right, but... but Noir would feel so betrayed.

Well, he was already terrified of Peter. What did it matter if he was more scared, if it meant he would be alive and be safe? Justifying felt wrong to him, left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he dealt as best as he could, gritting his teeth and praying for forgiveness as he violated Noir's trust once more.

Peter reached out, placing one hand on Noir's upper chest, the other at his bicep, holding him down.

The reaction was immediate.

Noir began thrashing, letting out a choking, inhuman howl as he tried to throw himself out of Peter's firm grip. His legs were kicking up, kneeing Peter hard in the back, and the nails of his left hand were gouging cuts into Peter's arm. Trying desperately to _get the hands off of_.

Peter didn't budge.

Noir's entire body was writhing, save for his upper left arm, which was perfectly stationary as Morales inserted the needle, pushing down the plunger.

Noir's fight slowly drained out of him, try as he might to keep it alive. His eyes were darting around, but completely unseeing, too panicked for his brain to process anything other than to _get away_. Peter slowly sat back, releasing his hold on Noir, and with it a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Morales let out a heavy breath as well, putting away the needle and bottle.

"Dios ayudarte."

Peter heard Aunt May shuffling around behind him as Morales spoke.

Peter's May, when she was nervous, would clean things. Anything and everything. After Uncle Ben had died, she'd cleaned the house obsessively for weeks. Panic every time she found a speck of dirt. Peter remembered walking into the house one day, and seen her ripping the wallpaper down. There was a stain, she had said. It was just the pattern of the wallpaper, really, but Peter hadn't said anything. She ended up putting the wallpaper back up anyway. After she had scrubbed every inch of it by hand. This Aunt May, he figured, would probably be off doing something similar. He hadn't really been expecting her to still be there. But, when he turned around, there she was, looking a little pale but stoic as ever.

She went over to kneel by Noir's head, petting his hair and whispering to him. Offering the comfort she could. She could not know how important that was, those touches and those soft words. Maybe they were everything, or maybe they meant nothing to Noir. Perhaps he could not even hear her.

But she did it anyway.

Peter looked away. He felt like he was intruding on that moment, disturbing it with his sight and his awareness of it. Dirtying the moment with himself. It was too pure, too... too Aunt May of a thing to see. That moment, that comfort, was for Noir and Noir alone.

Morales was cutting through Noir's shirt with practiced ease, carefully avoiding making any contact with injury. How she was able to do that, Peter presumed, was more instinct than awareness, since the whole thing just looked like one, massive injury to him.

Morales peeled the pieces away carefully. Noir moaned out as one strip was pulled out of a wound, while May shushed him gently. Morales murmured "Lo siento, lo siento," continuing her ministrations as carefully as she could. Her gloves were covered in black.

Finally, she removed the last few scraps, revealing the bloody mess that had been Noir's chest and abdomen.

She handed Peter one of the wet cloths he had gotten earlier, and he took it automatically. He wiped away at the blood, the inky, sticky black slowly transforming away into too pale white skin. As Peter saw more and more of the actual damage inflicted, he felt more and more distressed, more and more furious that he had let that bastard in the warehouse live.

There were bruises, deep grays and blacks that spread across Noir's chest in swathes of dark. A large on across the center of his chest looked suspiciously like a bootprint, the heel having punctured through his skin, which was slowly leaking black. His entire right arm was mottled, shades bursting across it in a horrifying manner, clearly broken in the upper arm. The worst part, though, were the cuts. It looked like someone had taken a butcher knife to Noir's upper body. Actually, that was probably what had happened, Peter realized with a grimace. Some of the cuts were nearly invisible, thin lines that barely bled, while others were deep gashes, steadily seeping blood out as fast as Peter could wipe it.

Suddenly, Noir's stillness didn't feel so relieving, Peter's gratefulness that Noir could finally _relax_ vanishing in an instant. The only sign Noir was even still alive was the uneven, jagged raise of his ribcage as he breathed. And that could stop at any moment.

He was going to die. Oh no, no, no, he was going to die and Peter couldn't do a single thing. He was going to die. Noir was going to die. He was going-

Morales scoffed, professionalism instantly switching to bold arrogance. "Excuse me? I am Rio Morales. I know what I'm doing, thank you very much."

Peter blinked. He hadn't realized he'd been talking out loud. Morales looked at him, all picture perfect confidence, eyebrow raised, fresh pair of gloves on, head cocked slightly condescendingly.

It was an act, Peter recognized instantly, a show she must have had to put on for worried patients and family alike before. But still, it was comforting. Of course she knew what to do. It was her job. It quelled his concerns. Very, very slightly.

But it was enough.

Morales pulled out a suture kit. Peter recognized it instantly, having had to stitch himself up more than a few times. Although he figured she could do a far better job than he ever could. And he was right, of course.

She was able to stitch up the worst cuts pretty quickly, although she had to keep stopping so Peter could wipe away the blood. After fixing up the third one, a long cut that stretched up almost the entirety of left Noir's side, May informed them that Noir was starting to come out of it. So, Morales re-dosed him, and kept going with militant efficiency. Stitch it up, move on, wrap it afterwards.

Peter was fine with everything until Morales picked up Noir's arm. His right arm. The arm that was broken, and swollen, and bruised and twisted and... Peter looked away, staring at the wall and trying not to be sick. He was trying to separate Noir the man from the injured victim in front of him. It was difficult, and not really working. At least Noir was drugged up, he shouldn't feel too much pain.

When Morales snapped it into place, Noir screamed.

\-------

Peter sat on the porch swing, watching a cat perched on top of Aunt May's car.

He felt his spidey sense go off, but it had been sending alerts at him all day. He didn't turn, keeping his eye on said cat. He knew the minute he looked away, it would be gone. Morales slipped next to him, gracefully taking a seat and looking over at it as well.

"He'll pull through." She said, "It's just making sure nothing gets infected and it all heals right."

Peter didn't respond.

"I want to check him for a concussion, but on the sedative I won't be able to get a good reading. Tomorrow I can, probably. If he's lucid by then."

Peter turned slightly towards her, keeping his eyes riveted. "Are you staying the night?"

Morales sighed. "Yes, I suppose I should. I already called the hospital, took a sick day. I need to call my husband. I don't- I don't know what to tell him. What could I say?"

"The truth?"

She let out a chuckle, but it sounded a touch breathy. "How do I even begin to explain all of this." It wasn't a question, not really. "He'd have questions, and I can't answer them." She shook her head. "Not the first time patient confidentiality's ever been a problem, won't be the last."

They sat in silence for a little bit, until Peter worked up the nerve to speak. "I'm... I'm sorry you're in this situation, Mrs. Morales."

He turned to face her, and was surprised by how _tired_ she looked. Still full of life. Still moving. But so, so tired. "Oh, please, call me Rio. After all ... este" She waved her hand behind her, "I say we are... uh..." She fell silent for a minute, eyebrows furrowing. "Conocidos? A, ah, acquaintances. ¿Sabés?"

"Yeah. Acquaintances." Peter nodded. "By the end of this, we're going to be besties."

Morales - no, Rio - laughed, a booming, joyous thing, and Peter felt the edges of his mouth curl up into a smile.

Huh. He hadn't smiled since this whole mess started. But sitting here with Rio, that had done it. He looked back towards the car, but the cat was gone.

That didn't matter. He had found better company.

"Oh, I need to patch your arm up, too. He clawed you up." Rio said suddenly.

"It'll heal."

"I don't care. I'll patch it up for you right now, okay?"

Peter didn't dare argue.

And when he eventually went back inside, gauze on his arm, where Noir was fast asleep on the couch, wrapped in white bandages that were spotted with black, arm in a rigid splint, broken and bruised but no longer dying, Peter knew that it would all be okay.

Eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this chapter was really hard to write (and re-write and re-re-write), and I wasn't sure how to break it up, so I just made one long chapter instead? It's kinda rough and skips around a bit but I was really struggling with this one and just wanted to keep moving since I won't be able to write anything for this weekend. I hope I didn't disappoint anyone too much.
> 
> Yes, Rio Morales is in this chapter a lot, but I needed to get through all of the medical section in one go. Also I wanted her in this story so badly. She's latina y la amo <3
> 
> A hopeful close to the chapter, but don't worry, more angst is coming.


	9. Chapter 9

Noir's eyes snap open.

Someone is here.

His breath caught in his throat, and his muscles tensed, ready to move. Or, tried to tense, anyway.

The moment he tried, his body erupted into dull, throbbing pain that started in his arm and spread throughout his body. He tried to flex his fingers, but a flash of pain shot across his body, turning his vision white for a moment. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let out a noise. He didn't know who was there, and he needed as much time to get ready to escape as possible.

Noir could hear someone breathing. It was slow, rhythmic. They were asleep. Noir turned his head smoothly, ignoring the burst of pain that exploded across his neck. Damn. It was too dark to see who it was. His spidey sense was offline, and his brain felt fuzzy and slow. His arm had him basically immobilized, and his entire chest and upper body ached.

Noir could feel his heartbeat quicken against his will, fear rising in his throat no matter how hard he tried to beat it down.

He heard movement, and the breathing changed. He snapped his eyes shut, faking sleep, heart rate spiking further up. He wasn't bound or restrained, which made noir hesitate before reacing. Did they think he was so weak he couldn't fight back at all?

"Noir? Are you okay?"

The voice was familiar, comforting. Noir was tempted to open his eyes, but didn't dare. It was a trap. The Nazis were trying to mess with him. They got bored hurting him physically, and now they were going to play games with Peter.

Wait. How did the Nazis know about Peter? Did they get him, too? That thought turned Noir's blood to ice, and drove a stake of fear directly into his brain.

Noir opened his eyes, sitting up in one, attempted fluid motion. His eyes weren't adjusting properly to the dark, but he could see the outline of one man, silhouetted in yellow light from a small desk.

As he tried to rise, however, his body erupted into pain, groan ripping out of his throat.

The figure was beside him in a moment, hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him back down. "Stay still, Noir. You've been hurt pretty bad."

Noir tried to move again, but the hands were firm. Restraining. He felt his breath catch, his pulse spike higher yet. He was trapped.

"Hey, hey, buddy, it's okay. Calm down, you're okay. You're okay."

The voice sounded concerned. The hands didn't move, though.

Noir tried to suck in a breath, but his lungs weren't working and he could feel his head pounding against his skull, screaming for him to fight, run, something, anything.

Noir balled his left hand into a fist, and swung out, making contact with the man's face. He stumbled back, hands flying off of Noir, and suddenly Noir could _breathe_ again.

Noir brought his hand up to his face, half-covering it, panting from exertion, exhausted after even that one action. He felt a little dizzy, but not quite like when he went days without water because of the rations. This felt different.

"What... did you do... to me?" Noir gasped out, feeling the damp bandages that sprawled up the side of his face with shaky fingers.

"Noir, it's Peter." The man sounded sad, desperate. "I found you, brought you back to Miles' universe. We had to patch you up. You're safe now."

Noir's eyes narrowed, figure still covered mostly in shadows. He racked his brain, mind moving sluggishly, trying to sort through thoughts to get to the truth.

_A flash of silver was the only warning Noir had before a sharp pain sliced its way across his torso._

_"What are all these scars from, hmm? All the times you tried to play the hero?" The last word was punctuated by a sharp twist of the knife. Noir groaned, eyes squeezing shut._

_"Open your eyes, or I'll rip out your eyelids!" The knife was pressed against the corner of Noir's eye, so close he could feel the tip against his waterline._

_Noir forced his eyes open, seeing silver at his peripherals, but afraid to glance towards it lest Fisch use it as an excuse to stab them out._

_"Good. I want you to be an audience participant." Fisch grinned, "After all, my job is just so dull," he slipped the knife down the side of Noir's face, not quite cutting through skin, just making a think white line of pressure appear. "Unlike this knife, anyway. I had this bad boy sharpened just for you, you know. Told them I was getting it cleaned so I could gut a pig."_

_The knife flicked out, drawing a line of blood across Noir's cheek._

Noir was shaking, nails digging into the side of his face, trying to gouge off the bandages that coated it. The man was catching his hand, rubbing the back of his hand.

Then, he gasped, holding it up. "Oh my God, Noir, your hand. I didn't even realize-" He cut himself off, probably not wanting to tell Noir whatever he saw. "Noir, do you recognize me?"

Noir squinted up, suspicious. "You... claim... to be Peter." He wanted to make the other man let go of his hand, but knew that if he tried he would fail. And then the man might hurt him.

"Yeah, right, detective. Need proof, right? Uh, here, let me, um" The man placed his hand back down, at his side, gently, before walking over to the small light.

"Rio told me not to turn on any lights, 'cause she thinks you have a concu- well, she thinks your head's been hurt pretty bad. So I'll just, um, move this over to... here," The man picked up the light, moving it over towards him, kneeling down beside Noir.

"See?" The man held it up to his own face.

It looked like Peter. He had deep bags under his eyes, and one of them looked like it was swelling into a black eye, bruise erupting around it. Who had hurt-? Oh, right, Noir remembered. He had hit the man, hit _Peter_ , when he was touching him.

Noir reached out his left hand towards Peter's face. Peter didn't flinch, letting Noir feel along the sides of his face, searching for a mask, looking for some sign of a trick, anything.

There was none.

Noir felt some of the tension coiled in his chest slowly unfurl, and his hand dropped down.

"Peter." Noir gasped out, "I'm... I'm scared."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scared boi
> 
> Comments feed the twisted being known as my muse.


	10. Chapter 10

Peter looked sad. “I know, Noir, I know.” He reached out a hand, holding it, palm upturned, to Noir.

Noir’s eyes tracked the movement, but he didn’t flinch away. Nor did he reach out.

Peter dropped it, but didn't look particularly disappointed. Just sad. Somehow that made Noir feel worse. “Lay down, okay? Get some rest.”

Noir shook his head, wincing at the ache as he did so, before slowly, painstakingly, pulling himself up the sofa a little to be sitting more upright. His feet still poked over the edge.

“I can’t sleep… right now.” Noir rasped out, hand going up automatically to rub his sore throat. The moment his fingers made contact with his skin, he threw his hand back down, taking a deep, staggering breath, and staring just past Peter’s shoulder.

“Hey, you okay, buddy?” Peter asked, tilting his head a little. “Do you need some water?”

Noir nodded slightly, and Peter stood up. Slowly, not making any quick movements, so Noir could track him. It was so considerate, so thoughtful. Noir felt sickened with himself.

Peter hesitated. “I’ll, uh, leave the light here? And I’ll be right back, I promise.” Peter turned to walk away, and Noir felt a surge of fear.

He didn’t want to be alone. He bit the inside of his cheek, keeping silent, willing himself to stay quiet, don’t say anything. Peter is already doing so much, don’t ask for more, it’s selfish, it’ll be fine, don’t say anything, don’t say anything, don’t say- But then Peter’s hand was on the doorknob and it was opening and Noir couldn’t-

“Wait.” He croaked out. Peter’s hand instantly froze, and he turned back around.

Regret instantly slammed into Noir’s mind. Why did he do that. Peter was trying to be nice, and now he’s going to be annoyed or be angry and _please_ don’t let him be angry.

_Fisch was angry. Noir wouldn’t scream for him._

_“There’s. No. Point. To. This. If. You. Don’t. React!” Fisch emphasized each word with a punch the gut, sending pain ricocheting through his body with each breath. When a punch landed right on where the bat had hit him, Noir saw spots bounce across the room, but he refused to blink. Refused to flinch. He kept stoic, impassive, eyes lit with determination to spite Fisch._

_Fisch grabbed Noir’s neck, pulling him forward against his restraints. His face contorted with rage. “You think you’re too good for this, huh? Think I can’t **make you** scream?”_

“Noir?” Peter asked, hand dropping from the doorknob. Noir blinked, trying to think of something to say, some reason for having stopped him.

“I…” Noir blanked. So much for being a private eye, he couldn’t come up with even a single excuse. How pathetic.

Peter took a half-step towards Noir, and asked, “Do you need me to do something?” His voice was all concern, no anger. Noir’s brow furrowed. Of course Peter wouldn’t be angry. He was _Peter_. Peter was never angry.

Noir steeled himself as best he could. “I just… I don’t want to… be alone.” There, he had said it. If Peter wanted to laugh at him now, he could.

“Oh, bud.” Peter sounded sad. “That’s okay. I can, uh,” Peter looked around. “I can ask Aunt May to get it, yeah?”

Noir shook his head immediately. “No, I don’t… I can’t,” He struggled to find words. “She can’t see me, like this.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. “Noir,” He said softly, approaching him again. “What do you mean?”

“She can’t see me…” Noir’s face burned with shame, “She’ll see the injuries. I don’t… want her to see that. See that I was hurt.” His face switched, jaw tightening minutely.

“You can’t tell her that this happened.”

Peter was pale, making the bags under his eyes even more prominent than usual. “Noir, we’re at Aunt May’s house. She already saw. She knows.”

Noir frowned. “No. We’re not…” He felt tension rise in his chest, constricting his throat and making his blood go to ice. “We can’t be…” His head was fuzzy, but somehow what Peter said was true.

_Noir tried not to scream. He tried so, so hard. And he was doing so good, too. Fisch was cutting over his old scars, slicing them open and digging his knife into them. Noir kept his teeth clenched, his breathing even, and didn’t dare speak, lest even a single noise escape._

_Fisch stepped back, bloody knife dancing in and out of Noir’s increasingly fuzzy line of sight._

_“Look here, Spidey.” He spat the word. “I’m losing my patience. What more do you want to me to do, huh?”_

_“Rot.”_

_Fisch slashed the knife against Noir’s ribs, and he snapped his jaw shut with a clack, groan of pain slipping out before he could silence it._

_Noir’s eyes widened._

_Fisch’s eyes narrowed._

__

__

_Suddenly, he dragged the knife all the way down Noir’s side, deep, twisting back and forth as he went._

_When he twisted the knife so the blade scraped against Noir’s hip bone, he couldn’t help it._

_Noir screamed._

_Fisch and Noir both froze, equally shocked that the sound had escaped Noir._

_Then, Fisch’s face slowly morphed into a grin. “Well, Spidey,” He twiddled the knife in his hands, letting drops of blood run down the handle, eyes fixed on Noir’s terrified face, “Now it’s time to have some fun.”_

A light was shining in Noir’s eyes. He squinted against it, and the light withdrew, clicking off. His eyes slowly focused in on a woman with dark skin, dressed in what looked like pajamas, who was currently talking, but not to him. Noir tried to focus in on the words, but the words were jumbling in his head.

Noir tried to sit up, but Peter was there, was speaking to him. “-down, okay? Stay still, don’t-”

The woman sighed, and shook her head at Peter, taking hold of his arm and leading him to the side, glancing back at Noir. Noir stared back at them, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying. Peter was still in Noir’s sightline, and he would glance back to meet his eyes every now and then. It gave Noir far more comfort than he should reasonably take from the situation, but he would worry about that later.

Finally, the woman patted Peter on the shoulder, and vanished through the door out of sight.

Noir blinked, and then Peter was in front of him, holding out a bottle of water. Noir looked at it, and, after a moment, took it with weak hands. The cap was already off. The detective in him was instantly suspicious, but Noir didn’t have the energy to think about it. As he drank, Peter began speaking, soft and slow.

“Rio was just here. The uh, the woman I was talking to? She checked you out, and you have a concussion pretty bad. Worse than she thought, actually. Good thing you have the healing powers or else, well,” Peter paused, “Anyway, you just need to stay still for a while, so we can make sure you don’t get worse.”

“How long?” Noir asked quietly.

“You need to stay in bed for 24 hours for the concussion, and then probably a good few weeks for all the other injuries you have.” Peter said each word carefully, making sure Noir could understand him. Not that Noir was too happy with what was being said, anyway.

Noir shook his head slightly, water bottle shaking in his hands. “I need to go back. I have work to do.”

“Your work can wait.” Peter looked guilty, and his eyes glanced to stare off of Noir's face. “Besides, you won’t be able to, anyway. I took your dimensional transporter. You’ll get it back once Rio gives the all clear.”

Noir coughed, choking on a mouthful of water before managing to swallow it, sending a quick flash of discomfort through his throat. “What? You can’t-” Noir wanted to be angry, but he felt too tired to really get worked up. Plus, he was still so weak. If he made Peter angry... “I have people to protect back home.”

“I know, Noir. I’m not in my dimension, either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow 2.2k hits?! Thank you all so much!! I’m so honored that people are enjoying this fic, it means so much to me!
> 
> A symptom of concussions is temporary memory complications, as well as thinking difficulty and confusion. This will not be an amnesiac fic, it’s just supposed to show how Noir’s concussion is impacting him during his recovery and healing process. That being said, if you want me to do an amnesiac fic, requests are open on my tumblr (shameless plug here).
> 
> Comments are, as always, appreciated.


	11. Chapter 11

Peter was staring. He knew he was, he knew courtesy dictated that he look away. Noir was a private guy. In all their time, he’d never seen the man without his coat on. Or his mask off, actually, now that Peter thought about it.

Yet, here Noir was, injured, bandaged, practically comatose. Defenseless. Vulnerable. And Peter was afraid to take his eyes off of Noir for a second.

Peter was afraid that if he looked away, Noir would be gone. Not even dead, but just… gone. He knew that Noir could find the transporter if he could stand, and knew that the minute he could he would be searching for it. He also knew that, despite Noir’s injuries, he was one of them. A spider-person. And they weren’t known for staying down long. And if Noir returned to his dimension, in this state, he would die. There was no question.

A darker, more twisted version of him wondered if Noir was faking his weakness, to make a run for it when his guard was down. Peter knew that he would, if the situation was reversed.

The minute he thought it, Peter felt guilty. Noir wasn’t like him. Noir was a good person, a good Spiderman. Peter… well, he wasn’t exactly the best fit for the job. Hell, he’s not even fit for anything.

But still, Noir would fight to go home. It was just a matter of time. And Peter, God, he’d be the one responsible for keeping him here.

It felt wrong, the idea of keeping Noir here against his will. Peter knew hiding the transporter was to help Noir, keep him alive and help him recover from his injuries. But to Noir, it would just be another stint of captivity. Peter was just another person trying to keep him trapped, keep him caged. When Peter thought of it like that, it made him feel sick. He wanted Noir alive, hell, _needed_ him alive, but he didn’t want to hurt him.

That was the last thing Peter wanted.

Still, it wasn’t like Peter was unused to hurting people. He had always tried to take down the bad guys with minimal damage. Sometimes, he’d underestimate them and end up getting a beat down. But that was always better than being excessive. Despite what J. Jonah Jameson claimed, he wasn’t extremist. He tried to bring people down as quickly, as painlessly, as possible. He never wanted to cause anyone pain, unless it was necessary to stop them.

Of course, he couldn’t really claim that. Not anymore. Not after what he had done to the Nazi. Peter knew, he _knew_ he had been trying to kill the man. Had been trying to destroy him. If it hadn’t been for Noir, he would have.

Peter could tell himself that he was doing it for Noir, to protect or avenge Noir, but he knew that was a lie. Peter had nearly killed a man because he had hesitated in the act of killing. If Noir hadn’t made a noise, if Noir was still out of it, Peter might have done it. He wasn’t sure why he had stopped. Noir would have seen the body. Peter would still have the blood on his hands. He hadn’t stopped because Noir would know the man was dead, he had stopped because he was afraid of what he would lose if he did kill him.

Peter had lost a lot, over the years. Uncle Ben, Aunt May, MJ… they had all left, and taken pieces of him with them. Uncle Ben had taken his youth, catching it in his dying words, begging for Peter to be responsible, to be great. Peter couldn’t be a kid, not after that. Aunt May, lovely Aunt May, she had slipped away, gripping his comfort in her too-cold hands. Peter had gotten lax, gotten cozy in his life. Superhero, family, lover, he had it all in the bag. And then Aunt May was in the ground next to Uncle Ben and Peter could never fully relax again. He was always looking, always watching, never really fully letting his guard down. Who would be next to die. How could he cheat death for them the way he could for himself. Questions he asked, and questions he never learned how to answer.

And MJ… god, MJ had taken so much. It was a wonder Peter had anything left at all. She had taken his trust, dropping it in his lap with a pen to sign his name. She had taken his people, the last person he truly cared about, when she handed him back her ring and told him to keep it. She had taken his hope, the hope that he would ever find anyone again. Anyone to connect to, anyone to trust in or care about or love. He had lost everything.

Everything except his mask. That was the one thing Peter still had. That mask meant that every day, when he went out there, people trusted him, had hope in him, got to relax and have their youth because of him. He was the thing standing between them and the bad guy of the week, and they knew that they could believe in him to save them without becoming like the people he was fighting.

And he had been about to throw that away over a Nazi. Peter had nearly decimated his entire moral compass over a fucking _Nazi_.

Never, in all his years of being Spiderman, had he ever killed. Peter knew that if he had finished off the man, he would have had to give up being Spiderman. He couldn’t keep helping others, being a hero, if he took a life.

Peter was suddenly, insurmountably grateful that he had stopped, that he hadn’t thrown that last punch. That he hadn’t killed him. That he hadn’t ended someone’s life. A human being. He knew there was no coming back from that.

Peter sighed, rubbing between his eyes. This whole situation was 100 shades of terrible. He looked back up at Noir, only sign of being alive in the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, and reminded himself…

He should have gotten there sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shoutout to HopelesslyLost for helping me with a part of this chapter!! If you haven't read her current fic, Burning Matches, it makes my fic look like fluff. Here is link if you are interested: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17282084/chapters/40644575
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated. More introspection this chapter to make up for the Noir angst last time.


	12. Chapter 12

Peter is exhausted. He knows that he is supposed to sleep, but can’t bring himself to close his eyes. Instead, he fiddles with his interdimensional communicator, typing and retyping a message to the other spiders. He was standing outside, letting the cold air keep him awake, keep him aware.

_Hey guys, it’s PB. I went looking for Noir-_

_Guys, it’s PB. I have some bad news-_

_Hey, it’s PB. Noir was in danger and-_

Peter knocked his head back, sighing. He hasn’t got a clue of what to say, or how to explain what’s going on.

_Hey guys, it’s PB. I found Noir, he’s in rough shape. I’ve got him at Aunt May’s._ Peter hesitated, before adding, _I love you guys, okay? Stay safe._

It was imperfect, for sure. But Peter pressed the send button all the same

Within moments, the communicator was buzzing, sending off strings of text that were mostly iterations of “What’s wrong?”

 

One text caught his eye, though.

_Gwen: I’m coming over._

Peter scrambled, nearly dropping the communicator as he typed out a harried, _No, it’s okay, he just needs-_

But it was too late. Already everyone was on board, giving him notice to expect them in about .2 seconds.

Even Miles was coming, as Spiderman he promised, it would just take him a few minutes to sneak out and web across to May’s house.

_Guys really it’s fine._ No, this wasn't what he had meant. He had intended to reassure them, and now they were all coming and he wasn't sure what to do. Noir would probably be upset that they all would see him like this, he'd be so embarrassed. Peter was an idiot and he had to try to fix this before they showed up.

But it was too late. Already a portal was opening and Ham was popping through, all bright colors and loud noises. Then Gwen, slipping through with her usual grace, smoothly landing on the grass in front of him. She stood up to face Peter, mask in place, clicking the portal closed behind her without glancing back. Then it was Peni, her squeezing through the portal before it had even finished forming fully, flashing a peace sign at them all from inside Sp//der.

Miles flipped into sight, dropping to the ground next to Peni and giving Sp//der a fist-bump. “Good to see you again, Peni.” He turned, “You too, Ham. And, uh, Gwen, it’s been-”

“So, what’s the situation?” Gwen interrupted, ever the blunt one. Normally it was a trait Peter appreciated, but right now he was too upset to really care. “What’s happened to Noir?”

Peter grimaced. “Look, guys, it’s a long and-” he glanced at Peni and Miles, “-graphic story, okay? You guys only need to know that he’ll be okay. You don’t need to see this.”

“I think we do.” Gwen was glaring at him. “Or else I’m going to walk in there and find out.” She began pushing past him, walking towards the door. Peter reached out, catching her wrist.

“No!”

Gwen turned sharply, pulling her arm out of his grip. He let her. “He’s our friend too, Peter.”

"He wouldn't want you to know." Peter defended, "Just go home. I shouldn't have said anything, okay?"

“Whatever’s wrong, we should know. We have a right to know what’s going on.” Miles said firmly, stepping forward as well.

“The kids are right, and you know it.” Ham shrugged.

Peter turned to look back at the house, before turning back to them, shoulders slouching down as the weight of the world decided to make its presence known once more.

“Okay, look, Noir lives in the 1930s.” He began.

“Yeah.” Miles replied, “We already got that part.”

“Well, he, you know, fights Nazis. And one of them got the upper hand and, uh,” Peter cut himself off, looking away at a nearby telephone pole and blinking a couple of times, until his voice was under control. He had to be cool, collected, couldn’t scare the kids. “He tortured him. Bad. He’s been hurt… I’m not even sure how much or how badly, let alone how to help him.”

Peni squeaked, and Peter’s eyes flashed up to her face. Her eyes were slowly but surely filling with tears.

“This is why I didn't- Oh, come here.” Peter sighed, opening his arms. Peni slid out of Sp//der, scampering to him, wrapping her arms around his stomach, hugging tight. Peter could feel how tightly she was squeezing, trying to get as close to him as possible. She was a child.

“What do we do?” Miles asked that question, his voice quiet, reserved, any trace of his bubbly personality absolutely coated in fear and concern. He wasn’t asking the question at Peter, not really, but he answered honestly anyway.

“I don’t know.”

“Need us to do some whacking?” Ham asked in an unusually serious voice, pulling out a gigantic mallet that was absolutely covered in gleaming spikes.

Peter shook his head. “No, no violence. It… it’s been taken care of.”

Ham dejectedly put the mallet back into his pocket. “If you change your mind…”

Gwen was uncomfortably silent, stiff. Even with the mask, Peter knew her face was set in a dead scowl. She was wound tight, ready to snap in a moment’s notice. She didn't speak, and Peter was grateful. He didn't think he could handle her line of questioning. Not right now.

Peni was the one who finally dared to ask, “Can we see him?” She had her head tilted up, staring at Peter with big, watery eyes.

“He, uh, he’s sleeping, right now. He needs rest, to help him... heal." Peter explained gently. Miles turned his head to the side a little, grimacing. "But when he wakes up, he'd probably like to see you guys. So, uh, come inside, I guess? We can make room for you. I'll let Aunt May know she has more guests."

The group trudged past Peter, inside the welcoming home that concealed so much suffering within its walls. Suddenly, Peter snapped his fingers, pulling Miles aside by the back of his suit. "Make sure you keep your mask on, kid. Your mom is here.”

_“What?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of talking, not a whole lot of doing. It's more setup for future, angst-filled chapters.
> 
> Don't forget to keysmash that comment button and hit that send button! Like and follow and also give me your soul!


	13. Chapter 13

“I’ll go… tell Aunt May and Rio you guys are here. Just, stay here, and, uh, make sure you keep your mask on, kid.” Peter said, latching the door after them, and then double-checking it automatically.

“Yeah, about that,” Miles interrupted, “What do you mean that my mom’s here? Like, here here?”

“Yeah. Noir didn’t want a hospital so we had to make do.” Peter went to walk away, but then stopped, checking the door one last time. Just to be sure.

“By calling _my mom?_ ” Miles’ voice was getting higher.

“May had her number already. She was the only one we knew we could trust.”

Miles opened and closed his mouth several times, before admitting, “Okay, fair, but-”

Gwen was checking the locks on the windows as she snapped, “Just stop it, Mil- Spiderman. We don’t have time to argue about what’s already been done.” Then she stopped for a moment, before turning to the side to face Miles. “Sorry, that wasn’t how I meant to say it.”

“Well, you’re right.” Miles replied, “We can’t change the fact that we didn’t do _anything_ to help Noir.”

“Miles-” Ham began carefully, but Miles interrupted him.

“This never should have happened. We shouldn’t have let him get hurt in the first place.” Miles’ voice was getting colder, sadder. Guiltier.

Peter groaned. “See, this is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything. You couldn’t have done anything to help him, you didn’t even know anything was wrong.”

“You knew. You were telling us you were worried, remember?” Miles sounded so, so miserable. “We didn’t listen.”

“I didn’t listen to me either, kid. It still took me an entire day to act on my instincts. A lot of Noir’s suffering is because I waited around.” Peter rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Look, just stop, okay? You guys are all kids, you shouldn’t be worrying about Nazis or any of this. None of this is your faults, okay? C’mon, I’ll make you guys some hot chocolate.”

“Chocolate won’t fix this.” Miles objected.

“Speak for yourself.” Ham replied, “Chocolate fixes everything!”

Peter picked up Peni in one arm, who curled her arms around his neck as he walked into the kitchen. Ham trotted directly behind, followed by a silent Gwen and a begrudging Miles.

As it turned out, Peter didn’t need to make any hot chocolate at all. As they entered the kitchen, Aunt May was already standing at the counter, back to them, over a running sink.

“Aunt May?” Peter asked.

She stiffened for a moment, back straightening, keeping her face turned away. “Yes, Peter?” Her voice was thick, and one hand came up to wipe at her face as she turned around. If she was surprised by the sudden increase in Spiderlings, she didn’t show it, instead trying to force a smile to her watery face. “Oh hello. I was wondering when the gang would show. I’m making some tea. Would you all like some?”

Peni nodded, and May forced her smile wider. “Alright, then."

Peter looked over May’s shoulder, and saw the tea kettle overflowing with water as the sink kept pouring. May noticed, and quickly turned off the faucet, moving the kettle to the stove.

Peni slid out of Peter’s arms to sit on the counter edge, while Gwen and Miles slipped into the barstools. Ham was still struggling to get onto it, probably for the comedy purposes, and Peter leaned against the counter, putting his head into his hands.

May ran her hand across his back, squeezing his shoulder as she passed him by. “It’s good of you to bring them. I really think it will help Noir. Oh, and by the way, young man,” May pointed a finger at Miles, “You better keep that mask on.”

“Yeah I already told him.” Peter shrugged.

“Good, good.” May said distractedly, pulling out a bin of tea leaves. “Rio is sleeping in the guest room, and Noir is in the main, so you will need to all share the living room.”

“Yeah, that’s no problem. Thanks for letting us stay here.” Gwen pulled off her mask, blonde hair poofing out, holding it tightly in her hand.

“Of course, dear. My home is always open.”

The tea kettle whistled, Aunt May poured some out for each of them -at some point Ham had managed to get to his chair-, and sat down across from them, steaming cup in hand.

Peni swung her legs against the counter, taking a sip. “So how do you know Rio?” She asked.

May chuckled. “Oh, that’s a long story. It was after the ea-”

Peter stood bolt upright, as did every other person in the room, save May.

May stood as well, setting her teacup down with a clatter. “Is there something wrong?”

Before the words had even finished leaving her mouth, a loud, continuous scream rocketed down the hallway, turning Peter’s blood cold. He was moving before he even finished registering the need to do so. His cup was gone, he wasn’t sure if he had put it down or just dropped it entirely, he didn’t care. He had to help Noir.

He nearly crashed into the door, forgetting momentarily how to turn knobs, and struggled with it for far too many seconds before managing to open it, stepping into the room.

Rio was already there, in different clothes Peter noted, ones that weren’t stained with splashes of black. She was at a slight distance from Noir, who was shaking and screaming and gouging at his bandages, and she was catching his arms and trying to redirect them down but they just kept coming back up to grab at his chest and his throat and he just _kept screaming_.

She looked up, saw Peter, and without even a word being uttered between them, he was at her side, keeping Noir’s arms away from hurting himself or her. Noir’s eyes were open but unfocused, and his thrashing only become more severe with the new restriction of his arms.

“Do something!” Peter yelled, over Noir’s screaming, to Rio.

“I can’t. He needs to wake up on his own.” Rio’s voice was strained.

“What’s wrong?” Gwen asked.

Rio turned around, visibly starting at the sudden horde of Spiderpeople that had appeared in the doorway. Ham, Gwen, Miles, even Peni, who was hiding behind Gwen’s leg, were standing there.

“What are you-?” Rio frowned, stepping towards them, instantly clipping into serious-er mode. “Get out. Now.”

“We want to-” Miles began.

“Now!” Rio snapped, pointing a finger towards the door. “Don’t make me waste time making you leave.”

“He’s our friend-” Ham was speaking, but the rest of it was drowned out by Noir’s screaming. He managed to wrest one arm free long enough to claw against his bandaged chest, before Peter caught it again. Noir’s fingernails dripped droplets of black from gouging into skin and ripping open stitches.

“Guys, just go. We can talk about this later, okay?” Peter grunted, sticking out a knee to block Noir’s leg from kicking out at Rio, whose back was still turned to yell at the others, wincing as it hit him hard.

“We aren’t going to leave him like this, we can help-!”

“You. Can’t. Help. Now listen to Rio and _go_!”

Peter hissed in pain as Noir kicked him again and again, trying to force him to let go so he could rip off more of his bandages. “It’s okay Noir, it’s okay.” He muttered, tuning out the sounds of the others argue, and Rio moving around. His only focus was helping Noir, making him safe.

Peter was pretty sure at some point Aunt May got involved, because the others were gone and Rio was back, kneeling next to him and trying to keep Noir’s thrashing from ripping open any more stitches than he already had.

“How much longer is this supposed to go?” Peter asked. Noir’s screaming was slowly choking down, more from just not being able to scream anymore than waking up.

“I don’t know. Night terrors can take up to half an hour, it’s only been,” Rio checked the clock, “12 minutes.”

That time seemed far too short. It felt like Noir had been writhing, gouging at his skin, for hours.

Peter just kept holding Noir, promising that it was going to be okay, that he was going to be okay, words and words that Peter wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore, only that if it had even a chance of helping Noir he would keep doing it.

Noir’s body slowly, slowly became more relaxed, his movements slower and less jerky. The attempts to tear himself free of Peter’s grip lessened, became weaker, before almost stopping entirely. Noir’s eyes started blinking closed, until they stayed that way, arms going fully limp in Peter’s grip.

Peter placed Noir’s arms at their sides, wincing at how Noir’s broken arm had been jostling around, and the faint, new bruising appearing at his wrists where Peter had held him. Now that Noir was no longer trying to maim himself, Rio was kneeling down, peeling back the ripped bandages or ones that were soaking through with fresh black, muttering curses in spanglish as she saw all the ripped stitching.

Peter sat back, sinking to his knees and holding his head in his hands. This was too much. This was all too much.

The door creaked open, and Peter lifted his head to see Peni silhouetted in the barely-opened door.

“Peni?” Peter tried to stand up, tried to put on a strong face, but he knew that he couldn’t. He just didn’t have the strength. Peni burst into tears, running forward and into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck.

Peni glanced up at Noir, and while Rio was trying her best to obstruct her view of him, she clearly saw enough. Peni’s tears turned into messy weeping, and she asked, inbetween sobs, “Is he going to be okay?”

Peter brought up his arm, wrapping it protectively around Peni, turning her face so she wasn’t looking at Noir, or the growing pile of black bandages by Rio’s feet. Peni may be a Spider, but she was still too young for all of this.

“C’mon Peni, he’s _Noir_. Nothing can keep him down, especially not a bunch of Nazis.”

Peni sniffled, then nodded, clutching against Peter so tightly it hurt. "He can do anything."

Now, if only Peter could believe that himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a chapter. Also wow we broke 3k?? I am v impressed, thank you all so much for reading <3
> 
> Comments vnhfvfjvg i love them please give


	14. Chapter 14

At some point, Peni had fallen asleep in Peter’s arms, curled against him, her tear tracks on his shirt. Rio had finished up fixing Noir, as best she could anyway, and was just cleaning up the last few pieces. Peter felt bad. Now these clothes had blood on them, too. Rio didn’t seem too bothered by it, just saying, “It’s part of the job,” as she snapped off her latex gloves and threw them into the trash bin.

“You going to go back out there?” She asked, tilting her head towards the door where Peni had come from.

Peter grimaced, looking back at Noir. “Could I stay here? Just in case he… has any problems.”

Rio hesitated, crossing her arms. “Judging by his… reactions, it would be ideal to have someone in the room with him. I underestimated the medicine I gave him, he shouldn’t be like this. Besides,” The corner of her mouth quirked up, “He seems to handle you better than me, that’s for sure.”

“Heh. Yeah.” Peter huffed out a breath of air. “I guess that concussion hit him pretty hard if he’s trusting me.” He hesitated for a moment, before asking, quietly, “What should I do?”

Rio sighed, sitting down on the floor a few feet from him. Even in her exhaustion, she was still attentive to his question, considering it. Her answer, however, was less encouraging.

“I don’t know.”

“But… you’re a nurse. It’s your job.” Peter said dumbly, confused.

“This, all this, it’s not my division. I do emergency, I keep people alive. How they live after that… it’s not my place. I can advise on the best course of action, but I cannot give any set of guidelines. It would be wrong of me.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for a while, before Rio said, “Your kid is waking up.”

Sure enough, within moments, Peni was stirring in Peter’s arms, raising a hand to rub at her eyes. She looked up at Peter, cocking her head to the side and flashing him a big smile at him. “Thanks, Peter. I feel better now.”

“Uh, yeah.” Peter idly wondered if Rio had a spidey sense of her own, seeing as how attuned she was to anything and everything that happened around her.

“Hey, Peni, I’m going to stay in here with Noir, okay? Why don’t you go back outside with the others. I’m sure they want to know that Noir’s okay now.”

Peni shook her head. “Can’t they all stay in here with Noir?”

“I…” Peter looked to Rio helplessly. She stepped in smoothly, inching forward to kneel at eye level to Peni.

“That’s not a good idea, yeah? He’s hurt and scared, and having so many people would upset him. Here, I’ll come with you, okay? Peter can take care of Noir by himself.” She shot him a glance, and he nodded minutely.

“Alright? So let’s go talk to the others together.”

Peni reluctantly got to her feet, giving Peter one last hug, and casting a worried look towards Noir, before scampering off with Rio, grabbing her hand and vanishing through the doorway.

The door closed, clicking shut, and Peter and Noir were left alone again. Peter shifts, feeling his back scream at him for having sat in such an uncomfortable position, but ignores it, getting to his feet for something to do. But Peter was listening to Noir, listening to the sound of his ragged breathing and, if he focused, his beating heart. He would know if Noir was getting upset, or about to wake up, or anything.

Peter would be able to keep Noir safe.

Yeah, there was no way he was sleeping tonight.

Instead, Peter wandered around. This was Aunt May’s main room, after all. On the walls hung a few paintings, random artworks that depicting desert landscapes and the occasional O’Keefe copy. His Aunt May was more of a Thomas Cole person, whoever that was, but that didn’t really matter. He still had her favorite one in his apartment, hanging behind the couch.

There were a ton of books on the shelves, too, all neatly ordered and immaculately taken care of, books behind the occasional photo frame, even as the pages’ yellowing gave away the frequency of use. There were a few board games hidden away in one of the shelves, but they didn’t seem to have quite as much care, dust just barely beginning to gather on them.

May probably didn’t have anyone to play with, when the others weren’t here. That thought made Peter sad. Aunt May shouldn’t be lonely, she was… well, she was Aunt May. He picked up one of the photos, and felt his something strange in his chest.

It was Peter. The other Peter, the blonde one. He was graduating college, hat perched at an angle on his head, grinning like a dork, arm around Aunt May, who was smiling so wide and looked so proud-

He placed down the photo quickly, barely stopping himself from slamming it. He didn’t want to break anything. There were other photos of the dead Peter. A few of him and May, him and friends, some of whom he recognized, others he didn’t. One of him and MJ at their wedding. They were in the middle of the slow dance, it looked like, MJ had her head on his shoulder and Peter could swear there were tears in both of their eyes. They looked so happy, so content, the world was coming together perfectly just for them in that moment.

Peter’s hands were shaking, and he sets down that one with a clatter.

Peter turns to move, to stop looking at all these things he knows will bother him, but then one of them catches his eye and he does a double take.

It’s them. A photo, a little bit bigger than the others to fit everyone in the frame, absolutely bursting with Spiderpeople.

Peni was on the left side of the frame, joined by Miles, engaged in a very intense game of Uno. Judging by her maniacal face, and Miles’ crushed one, he had lost. Noir was squatting next to them, staring at the cards with his mask in place, holding a yellow card up to his face. Peter was pretty sure he had asked if it was purple. He was even more sure that Miles had told him yes. Gwen was hanging upside down in the form of a goalie on the right side, while Ham was a mid-air blur, heading straight for the net made out of spider silk. And Peter was towards the middle, hands a blur from having thrown Ham in the first place. He could see a slight flesh-colored smudge on the bottom edge of the camera, probably from May herself, and couldn’t help but smile a little. They looked so happy, so content.

Of course, May had gotten pretty mad when Ham had ended up knocking over several tables and put a dent in the ceiling. Although that had been kinda sorta definitely Peter’s fault. Ham had fixed it, once he had finished his full costume change and routine number. Peter still has that song stuck in his head, and it’s been almost two months.

Peter placed the frame back down, still smiling. They made a pretty solid team, actually, something Peter was grateful for. He didn’t have much in-universe friends, not after MJ left. She took the friend group in the divorce, and, frankly, Peter couldn’t blame her. She deserved friends, deserved everything in the world.

Peter didn’t deserve this second chance with these new friends, this new family, but he was too selfish to let this slip him by. He needed people in his life, as much as he hated to have anyone near him. Anyone in danger from him.

In a way, this Peter was lucky he had died. If his identity had been revealed, and he had lived? God, Peter shuddered to think of what would have happened to this universe’s May, or MJ, or even JJ Jameson, since this Peter still worked for him for some foolish reason.

Peter should consider himself lucky, actually. He didn’t have anyone the baddies could hurt to get to him. MJ had divorced him, May was dead… Peter B. Parker didn’t really exist, back in his universe. It was really only ever just Spiderman. Maybe that was another reason Peter found himself drawn to the other-universe Spiderpeople. They let him just be Peter.

But that was a problem for another day.

Peter wandered back over to where Noir was, making note that he was still sleeping soundly, before slumping down to lay on the ground. Close enough to the lamp where Noir would be able to see him if he woke, but far enough away that Peter wasn’t wrecking his night vision.

Peter stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes, picking at his fingernails, then doing some stretches, then counting the ripple of the fabric on the carpet. He was 730 knots of fabric tall, apparently. Then he did some more stretching, and finally checked the clock.

It had been 45 minutes.

Peter groaned, running his hand through his hair. He really didn’t want to doze off, not when Noir might need him. Maybe he could ask May for some tea.

No, he didn’t want to leave. What if Noir woke up when he was gone?

So, instead, Peter just propped himself into the least comfortable position he could think of, and kept vigil.

And when Noir woke up in the morning, Peter was there, awake and ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm going to do my homework :T
> 
> Also me: sees positive reaction to recent chapter, does this instead of work.
> 
> Geez I want more angst but I need Noir to actually be awake and "functioning" (ja, right) for it to happen so I'm like... ugh fine I'll have yet another transition chapter I guess.


	15. Chapter 15

When Noir does wake up, it’s with a start, half-lifting off the couch, head on a swivel. He was trying to draw in as much as possible, gauge every aspect of the room he was in. He recognized where he was - Aunt May’s? Certainly not his universe, since the light that spilled in through the open curtains was yellow, and the walls were colored something else that Noir couldn’t remember the name of.

As Noir looked around, trying to gain his bearings, a man shifted near him. He snapped his head to the side, staring at him, tensing to run.

A rather disheveled Peter B. Parker was sitting on the floor, next to a lamp, stretching out as he grinned up at Noir.

“Hey! It’s good to have you awake.”

He sounded… peppy. Too much so, actually. Noir’s eyes narrowed, and he slowly, painstakingly, shifted so that his feet were on the carpeted floor. Peter awkwardly climbed to his feet, cursing under his breath and gripping his back as he did so. Noir didn’t want to stay in this room alone with him.

“Maybe we should wait until Rio gets here before you-”

Noir stood up, before promptly staggering. Peter reached out, placing one hand on his shoulder, the other one at his back. “Oh-kay, you need to sit back down.”

Noir twitched his shoulder at Peter’s touch, swallowing hard and shaking his head slightly. He was getting paler by the minute, and Peter really didn’t want to prolong this any more than necessary.

With a gentle push, Noir was back on the couch, now glaring up at Peter from a somewhat safer position. He was tensed, and Peter quickly let go of him. Thankfully, or unfortunately, more accurately, the threat of Peter touching him if he tried to stand, coupled with his physical weakness, seemed to keep Noir down. For now, anyway.

“I’ll get Rio for you.”

Noir frowned. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he did not recognize the name. Still, if Peter trusted them, then he… no, he still wouldn’t trust them.

Peter went to a door, opening it. Noir cocked his head to the side, trying to will his eyes to focus on how the door locked. He couldn’t see one, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

Peter shouted something down the hallway, and then came back, leaving the door slightly ajar.

After a few minutes, in came… oh. That was unexpected.

Peter spoke to Rio for a few moments, and then looked to Noir, who was suddenly very still, expression carefully blank.

Rio walked over to Noir straightaway, careful to give him space as she approached, moving slowly enough that his eyes could track her movements.

“How are you feeling today, Noir?”

Noir didn’t respond, instead just staring at Rio with that same expression on his face. It was so unusual, so ill-fitting, that it gave Peter pause as he wondered why Noir was suddenly acting like this.

If Rio was aware, she didn’t seem to care, instead walking to face Noir head-on. “Are you feeling any pain?”

After a moment, Noir spoke. “Of course I feel pain.” After a moment, he asked softly, so quietly that Peter could only hear with his advanced hearing, “Are you… a doctor?”

Rio shook her head. “Nurse, actually.”

Noir nodded, that same expression on his face, although it seemed less threatening. “Aces.”

Rio smiled politely. “So, about that pain-”

“It’s fine. I don’t need care, I need you to make Peter let me leave this room and go someplace else. I’m stir-crazy in here, and he's just unreasonable.”

"I am not being unreasonable!" Peter exclaimed, "You are severely injured, and-" 

Rio raised her hand to Peter, cutting him off. “You need to calm down. You are only causing Noir more stress, and that is not helpful-”

Noir coughed lightly, eyes glued to Rio’s hand.

Peter’s mouth went dry. Oh, right. Noir was from the ‘30s. And he was staring at a brown-skinned woman who was talking to him like an equal. The ‘30s was pre-desegregation, at least in Peter’s timeline. Noir seemed like a chill guy, for his timeline, but still, this could get ugly.

Noir’s voice was low. “So, in this dimension… people like you are allowed to… work with whites?”

Rio was at peak professional, face a complete mask. “Yes. We’re considered equals.”

The corner of Noir’s mouth twitched upwards. It was the first time Peter had seen anything even close to a smile cross Noir’s face since this whole thing started. He stared, agape, as Noir nodded, then said, “I hope that happens in my universe, too.”

Rio seemed taken aback, mask vanishing behind a look of clear surprise.

Noir saw her expression, and the hint of a smile vanished. “I fight Nazis, ma’am. Did you really think I would care about that?”

Silence filled the room, as Rio blinked at Noir, and Noir stared back at her. Finally, Peter interrupted. “Okay, so, Noir was requesting to break into the kitchen and acquire some food. Can we do that, or do you want to keep us in lockdown?”

Noir frowned. “Lockdown?”

Peter waved his hand around the room, nonchalant. “Yeah, like, uh, in here.”

“Am I _not_ allowed to leave here?” Noir’s voice was getting tense. Oops. That wasn’t what Peter had meant-

“Of course you can leave, I’m just here to make sure you’ll be able to.” Rio interrupted, cutting of Peter’s hamfisted attempt to soothe Noir before it started.

Noir didn’t complain as Rio checked his eyes, didn’t flinch as she checked his bandages, didn’t even wince as she inspected his wrapped, broken arm. His eyes were glazed over, staring past her at nothingness as she poked and prodded at the wounds, trying to make sure they weren’t going to burst open the minute he moved.

When she was done, she stepped back, and gave Peter the all clear. Peter went over to Noir’s side, noting that he was still out of it.

“Noir?” Peter asked, reaching out to touch Noir’s shoulder.

Noir flinched.

Peter drew his hand back like he had been burned, Noir's eyes staring daggers at him as he slowly untensed from the sudden contact.

"You're going to need a little help getting around, Noir." Peter tried to keep his voice light, "I think that maybe-"

"No." Noir's voice was shaky, almost unwilling to refuse, even as he looked pained. "I don't want-, I don't-"

“That's okay," Rio interrupted him, Noir flashing her a relieved look as she spoke, "Maybe Noir would prefer if he could hold onto your shoulder and you lead him, rather than the other way around.”

"Are you okay with that, Noir?" Peter asked.

Noir nodded mutely, staggered to his feet, reaching out a hand, attempting to grab Peter’s shoulder. It was hesitant, but at least he wasn't trying to book it out while the minute he was upright. He missed a couple of times, hand falling too far and missing Peter's arm entirely, before landing in its spot at Peter's shoulder. Noir tried awkwardly to keep his distance, as Peter walked him towards the slightly ajar door Rio had come in from, even as he ashamedly admitted to himself that he did, in fact, need Peter’s support to keep him upright.

“I’m going to take you to the kitchen. We need to get some food into you, you haven’t eaten since… you haven’t eaten for a while, and May always has pasta casserole in the freezer.”

Peter led him through a hallway that was too tight to fight in, and then to another door that he pushed open and walked through without hesitation.

Noir followed, body tensed for a fight even as he knew he could never beat anyone that were to stand against him right now.

The room was bursting with people. Aunt May, Miles, Gwen, Ham, Peni, and Sp//der, although thankfully miniaturized, were all there. All were currently completely still, staring at him, eyes wide.

Noir felt himself take half a step back. There was a lot of people. A lot. He knew them all, trusted - had trusted - them all before, but now he was afraid to stand too close to any one of them. They could hurt him, if they wanted to. Noir tightened his grip on Peter’s shoulder, trying to edge back into the hallway, to get away from all of this people, to get space so he could just _breathe_.

“Noir, I can ask them to leave if you need more space.”

“I…” Noir frowned. He didn’t know what he wanted, but he knew he didn’t want to make any of his… associates… upset. “It’s fine.”

“Cool.” Peter said, grinning, “I’m glad you’re okay with it. They were all pretty excited to see you.”

The others nodded, still silent. Wary of setting him off? Or maybe someone had warned them beforehand what he had let happen, and they were disgusted. He knew he was revolted with himself, too.

Peter sat down in one of the remaining free chairs, completely ignoring the tense silence, and gesticulated to the other one beside him. “Here you go.”

Noir stared at the chair. It looked unassuming, not even a chair, really, just a barstool. There was no back and nothing to trap him to. But as he stared at it he could feel his breathing get faster and he couldn’t seem to get it back down and just the idea of sitting down in it made his heart rate skyrocket.

Peter’s eyes flicked up to him, smile vanishing. “Hey, Noir, you okay?”

_Noir was pulling on the ropes trapping him, trying to force one arm out. Fisch had left, after letting him know that he was getting “more supplies”. Noir didn’t plan on staying to figure out what that was about. He knew that if he couldn’t escape now, Fisch would kill him. Of course, he’d been gone for a while now, and Noir hadn’t managed to get free, although he could feel that his wrists were beginning to get slippery. Whether that was from sweat or blood Noir wasn’t sure, but he didn’t care._

_None of it would matter if he couldn’t get out._

_Noir kept working on it, refused to give up. He couldn’t give up. He had to keep working, had to keep pushing and twisting and pulling and trying._

_After what felt like an eternity, Noir felt the rope slip over his hand, and pulled his right arm out. He stared at his dripping, black-covered hand for a minute, disbelieving. He had done it._

_He twisted his mangled left arm out of the ropes, letting it drop down to his side. The pain was gone for now, adrenaline rushing through his veins, all that mattered was the escape. He bent over, clawing at the ropes at his legs, ripping at it with every bit of strength he had left in his body._

_It came loose, and Noir stumbled to his feet, tripping as the blood loss hit him hard. His vision completely spotted over, and he lost his balance, hitting the ground. Trying to breath in oxygen, but suddenly finding none. He lay there for a few moments, willing his body to regain the ability to move. The minute his vision had flecks of light in it, Noir dragged himself to his knees, practically crawling towards the door. He left a streaked trail of black behind him as he slowly inched towards the door. Towards an escape. He was so close to getting out, he only had to make it a few more yards and he would be free. He had wanted to grab the bloody knife, but Fisch had taken it with him and there was nothing to defend himself with. So, instead, Noir tried to move fast, which was still far, far too slow._

_The door was locked._

_Noir threw his body against it, but it was no use. He hit the ground hard, driving out the air from his lungs, left gasping for breath on the floor. The walls, the door, everything was made of metal, and Noir, even at his full strength, would barely have been able to punch through. He staggered to his knees, and tried breaking the door handle, but it was useless._

_The door had been padlocked from the outside._

_No. No. No. He was so close. He was so close. Freedom was less than a foot from his aching, bleeding body and he couldn’t get to it. He had escaped the ropes and the chair, but he was still trapped, with no way out of this metal box._

_Noir felt his breath catch in his throat, tears springing to his eyes as the last few bits of hope he had crushed into dust._

_And Noir broke._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was satisfactory angst?
> 
> (Also I understand the part with Rio could be awkward for the reader but look it needed to be resolved and I refuse to let rose-colored-lenses (or monochrome lenses i suppose) hide the fact that my boi noir is from the '30s, and it would take him a hot second to get used to that interaction. I am Mexican and I personally need the validation that noir would be chill)
> 
> Please, comment. Tell me how terrible I am at making readers cry, because I wanted to but I'm not sure this was it.


	16. Chapter 16

“Hey man, it’s okay, we can just… uh…” Peter was talking to him, Noir was pretty sure, but he didn’t care.

They were back in the room they had initially left. According to Peter, he had started shaking and tried to make a run for it after Peter had sat down. So now, they were back here. Again. Noir was pretty sure Peter had been carrying him, for part of it, although Peter was talking far too much for him to ask the question.

It didn’t really matter, anyway.

Noir was back in this room. Peter had left the door open this time, which made Noir feel better and more anxious at the same time. He wasn’t trapped, he could escape, but having the door open just meant that someone could come in.

As if someone wouldn’t be able to come in, anyway. Not everyone was as weak as he was. They were actually capable of opening doors. Unlike him.

Peter was still talking aimlessly, some generic inspirational message that Noir knew was supposed to make him feel better. Peter was trying to be helpful. Noir knew he was supposed to appreciate it, but he was too frustrated with himself.

He hadn’t even been able to speak to the others before he had lost his cool and freaked out. He had been planning, had been excited, actually, to see them, try to maybe even smile or say something to them. If he could ignore the way that they surely hate him for his weakness. Maybe they would forgive him for giving up, for being a lousy Spider. They shouldn’t, but maybe, just maybe, they would have. Noir had hoped they might have.

But now he had shown them all how weak he was. How pathetic.

“...Recovery is a journey, and…”

Noir was sitting on the floor, having been unwilling to sit on the bloodstained couch for another moment. It was too much blood, too much black seeped across the fabric. It made Noir feel sick.

He had seen too much already. If he sat there, he might not be able to get up again.

“...wrong with needing…”

Noir picked at the edge of one of his bandages. It had black on it, too, recent and still drying. He wasn’t used to bandages, wasn’t used to this kind of healing. For him, it was all about keeping it moving, keep fighting even when he was injured.

That’s probably why he had so many scars.

Noir felt his lips twist in a pained perversion of a smile. The irony was, of course, clear to him. Every single time he had rushed into a battle, not taken the time to let his body heal, he had been creating one more scar for Fisch to rip open. One more point Fisch could put pressure on, one more instant that drove him to scream and cry and _beg_.

“Hey man, you okay?” Peter was talking to him, voice gone from relieved and nattering to cautious. He had stopped moving, and was now watching, carefully.

Noir felt his smile turn into a grimace, but he didn’t respond. The picking became more and more prevalent, Noir now trying to tug the bandage off.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that-” Peter was caught between trying to stop Noir or not, seemingly wanting to take Noir’s hands away but not daring to touch. He was hovering in Noir's edge of vision, wringing his hands trying to prevent himself from reaching out.

“Noir, c’mon, Rio put effort into that, you shouldn’t just-”

Noir ignored Peter, peeling the bandage off in one, dragging motion, staring down at his own chest.

A mass of gray bruising surrounded a thick line of angry flesh, stained with blood. White stitches were holding the two sides of him together, uniform and straight all the way down. Except for the spots where the blade that had cut it open had twisted and dug in, creating ragged skin that the stitches could not seem to hold into.

For those parts, clear bandage tape was along each side, an attempt to prevent the skin from warping.

It was going to scar. Noir couldn’t breathe.

_“And tell me, what’s this scar from?” Fisch was enjoying this._

_Noir gritted his teeth, moan of pain ripping from his throat as Fisch twisted at one of his old scars, a line that edged across his shoulder. Well, new scar, considering the way Fisch was dragging his knife into it._

_“You don’t want to answer?” Fisch’s voice was angry. So, so angry. “I thought I already made you scream. Do you want me to make you beg, next? Tell. Me. What. It’s. From.”_

_Noir jutted out his chin, trying to imitate defiance even as he knew he was giving in. Again. “I was going after a Nazi cell-”_

_Fisch hit Noir in the side of the head, hard. Noir refused to let his head turn, keeping himself facing forwards even as the hit reverberated in his already aching head._

_“I didn’t ask you what you did. I asked how you got it.”_

_Noir muttered. “Nazi. His bullet grazed me, right before I-”_

_Fisch hit him again. This time, Noir did feel his head jerk to the side, the dark spots in the corners of his vision exploding to life across his sightline._

_“How did you get it?”_

_“Nazi.” Noir gritted his teeth._

_“Much better.” Fisch took the blade away, patting Noir roughly on the arm, right over the injury. Noir winced._

_“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Fisch’s voice was practically doting, sickly sweet in his satisfaction. “There was no reason to make me upset, you could’ve just answered me the first time.”_

_Fisch tapped at another scar, one that he had already twisted and ripped open before. "And what about this one?"_

“Noir, you’re okay.” Peter was facing him now. “You’re safe, you’re with me.”

Noir blinked, staring at Peter. He looked worried, and his voice was tinged with desperation. Why did Peter look at him like that?

“C’mon, Noir, take a breath for me. Please, bud, you’re okay, you’re safe, you just gotta breathe.”

As the words began to take meaning in Noir’s mind, he suddenly became aware of an intense burning in his lungs, body screaming with need for oxygen. Noir sucked in a breath, coughing as his throat seized around the suddenly unfamiliar action of breathing. Peter sagged in relief, momentarily reaching out as if to touch Noir’s face, but then redirecting it to drag down his own.

“Just keep breathing, Noir, that’s good. That’s good.”

Noir frowned. Had he not been breathing before?

Peter flashed the thumbs-up over Noir’s shoulder, towards the door

Noir turned around, too fast, seeing… Gwen? She was about half a foot into the room, plate in one hand.

“When…” Noir coughed again, “When did you get here?”

“She followed us in here, so you could still eat even if you weren't... out.” Peter explained.

“I didn’t want to distract you.” Gwen shrugged with forced nonchalance. “If you want, though, I can go-”

“I should have known you were here.” Noir said, frowning.

"You're busy, it's no big deal-”

“No.” Noir was starting to get a sinking feeling in his chest as he realized something was very, very wrong. This whole time he’d been awake, he’d been on edge, nervous, panicky. He’d had trouble distinguishing friends from enemies, telling Peter apart from Fisch… Even though the touch itself was what was setting Noir off, the fact that he couldn't get reads, wasn't put at ease by Peter's presence like he always had been before...

And now, Noir hadn’t realized there was another person in the same room as him?

It wasn’t that he hadn’t “realized”. He hadn’t sensed her.

He hadn’t sensed _anything_.

Noir whipped back around to face Peter, eyes wide. Whatever Peter saw in his expression, it made him go pale.

“What’s wrong, Noir?”

Noir could hear the inflection in his voice, could see the panic. But he couldn’t sense it, couldn’t determine if it was truly there or not based on his own knowledge.

“My spidey sense… it’s gone.”

He didn't even hear the plate shatter behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	17. Chapter 17

“Is there anything you can do?” Gwen’s voice was carefully quiet, but pitched high from stress.

Rio shook her head, sitting back on her heels. “Yo no se. It’s not like I see patients with… ‘spider senses’ in the hospital.”

“You can’t fix it?” Her control slipped, voice shooting up towards the end of her sentence.

Rio rubbed at her eyes, disregarding the outburst. “It’s possible that the damage is from the massive head wound, but…” She sighed, raising her hand into the air and flopping it down onto her leg. “It might very well just be a mental block. A coping mechanism. Or, even a defensive action?”

“So you don’t know.” Gwen had resumed pacing on the wall, frown permanently etched into her face. Testy, but no longer yelling.

Rio shook her head, “No.”

“Great. Just great.”

Noir was silent, had been since he had told Peter, in a horrified whisper, exactly what was missing. He was staring, eyes unfocused, off to the side, at something that seemingly only he could see. He had not even reacted to Gwen scooping up the broken plate shards and food, throwing it into a bin. He hated food waste, would have complained about it under any other circumstances. Instead, he did not even seem aware that it had happened.

Peter was hovering off to the side, lost in thought. He had secretly, guiltily hoped that Noir’s reactions to him wasn’t entirely his fault. But now, knowing what part of the reaction did stem from, Peter felt ashamed. As if his wishes had actually impacted Noir, had actually cost him so much.

Would Noir’s spidey sense come back? Could it? And, without it… Peter wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep being Spiderman. How could he, when he couldn’t even sense danger?

The worst part of all this, Peter decided, was that they couldn’t even do anything to bring it back. It wasn’t waiting for a set time or doing something at the right moment, there might just not _be_ a fix. They just had to wait and hope.

Noir slowly blinked, bringing his eyes down to see his own hands. His left arm was still wrapped, but his hand was exposed. Scarred fingertips peeked out from bandaged fingers, a couple of them broken, a few more missing their nails. His right hand was in a slightly better state, save for the mass of bandages covering the back of his hand, and the same scars around his fingers. Only one of those fingernails was missing, though.

Peter was disgusted with himself for finding it a mercy.

Rio patted the floor in front of Noir, and Noir raised his head slowly, almost dazedly, to look at her.

“It will be alright.” Rio’s voice was kind, but her words were blunt. “Once you are healed, it may come back. And if not, you will adjust.”

Noir gave no indication he had even heard her. He dropped his gaze back to his bandaged hands, mute.

There was nothing he could say.

“We should tell the others.” Peter said, eyes glued to Noir. Gwen and Rio nodded in agreement.

No one moved.

Finally, after a far too long pause, or far too short, perhaps, Gwen dropped down from the wall, walking over beside them, and placing a hand on Rio’s shoulder. Her controlled expression was crumbling, fast, and Peter knew she was about to break down, could sense it in her face and body posture. “Can you… can you… please-” She cut herself off as her voice cracked, turning her head slightly so as to have Noir not see her face.

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t looking at her.

“Of course.” Rio stood, taking Gwen’s hand in her own, “Why don’t you help walk me there, okay?”

Gwen barely made it out the door before her hand flew to her mouth, shoulders shaking. Rio closed the door behind them, arm wrapping around Gwen’s shoulder and steering her through a door that definitely did not lead to where the others were.

“Man, I do not envy that conversation.” Peter said, trying to smile. It fell flat, and Noir didn’t acknowledge it.

“Okay, Noir, buddy,” Peter sat down where Rio had been, “You gotta say something.”

Noir didn’t move.

Peter decided, then and there, that having Noir afraid of him, flinching back at every hand and attempt at contact, was far less upsetting than this. Noir, completely separated from the world he was in, was terrifying. At least when he was afraid, he was reactive. Now, now he was so still that Peter would have thought him dead, if not for the rise and fall of his bandaged chest, and the sound of Noir’s too-fast heartbeat in his ears.

“C’mon, Noir, let me know what you’re thinking. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, okay?.”

Noir stiffened, eyes still fixed away from Peter. When he spoke, his voice was laced with venom. “I never asked for your help.”

“Well, looks like you got it anyway. We care about you, man, _I_ care about you, we just wanna make sure that you’re-”

“If you say ‘okay’ one more time to me, I am going to-!” Noir cut himself off, biting down on his tongue so hard it must have drawn blood. When he spoke again, he sounded exhausted. “Just leave me alone, Peter.”

Peter knew Noir was lashing out because he was scared, that his world had suddenly gotten so much more foreign. But Peter would be damned if he let Noir seclude himself like this. Peter had seen others, hell, he’d seen _himself_ go down this hole, and he was bound and determined not to let Noir do the same thing to himself.

“Noir, I can’t leave you alone, man. I’ve gotta keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t get hurt-”

Noir scoffed, finally dragging his eyes up from his mangled hands to glare at Peter, eyes sparking with fury. “You mean make sure I don’t hurt myself.”

“That’s not-”

“Not all of us are like you, Peter. I’m not going to jump off a building without my webs the moment it gets hard.”

Peter took an immediate, instinctive step back, flash of hurt so visceral spreading across his face that he couldn’t possibly hope to conceal it in time. It’s just because Noir’s afraid, it’s just a defense mechanism, don’t take it personally, don’t take it personally…

“Noir.” Peter had meant it to sound strict. Instead, it was a shaky, half-whispered plea. Don’t bring that up, don’t say that, it was a moment of weakness and Peter didn’t want to think about it because it reminded him of how he felt then, and how that edge was creeping just under the surface of his skin, pounding to split open his body and let it crawl out. _Don't._

Noir’s face twitched into something that looked like regret for half a second, before it vanished behind a blank expression, his eyes going back down to his hands.

When he spoke, it wasn't full of ice or venom, nor was it tired and empty. No, it was just steady, impersonal. If the voice did not sound like him, Peter would doubt it was Noir at all. “Just leave me be, Peter.”

Peter turned away for a moment, steadying his breath. He blinked hard, checked to have is voice under control, and then said, “I’m not leaving you alone. I’ll sit over there, by the wall, but I’m not going to stick you in here by yourself.”

“You want to make sure I don’t escape. You want to keep me trapped.” Noir’s voice was so even, so disturbingly unemotive.

“No. I don’t.” Peter was struggling to keep his voice neutral. He walked away from Noir, sitting down against the wall with a grimace, thwipping a book from the shelf into his hands. “I’m staying right here.”

Noir didn’t even look at Peter, but kept his eyes glued to his hands, and tried to ignore the sound of pages flipping in the background.

It sounded wrong. Everything sounded wrong.

And as Peter glanced up over the top of the book, he saw that Noir was still just sitting there, blank, like a broken toy waiting to be given a purpose.

But Peter did not dare offer one. Not now. All he could do was try to make sure that Noir didn’t go and break himself.

And maybe, just maybe, he could help fix him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noir lashing out was bound to happen eventually :)
> 
> also idk if the pacing of this is ok, I've never done a long fic like this before and i'm concerned that it's either dragging or it's doing some whiplash.
> 
> Hey comment for the soul plz


	18. Chapter 18

“Oh come on.” Peter groaned from across the room.

Noir blinked, slowly raising his head to stare at Peter. Neither of them had spoken in the better part of an hour, silent except for the flipping of pages and the sound of Noir’s breathing, too loud in his own ears.

Peter 's eyes flicked up to Noir, "Oh, uh, sorry.”

Noir considered not saying anything, returning to staring at the carpet, but instead asked, quietly, “What is it?”

Peter did a double take, before closing the book and showing him the cover. “It’s, uh, it’s Around the Planet in 120 Days, by… Julia Verne? It’s just, my universe has a different… title. And there’s some other different stuff in this one.” Peter shrugged. “Actually, it’s pretty similar, which just makes the differences weirder, you know?”

“Oh.”

They lapsed back into silence, Noir looking back down. He reached out, picking at a piece of carpet with his bandaged fingers. Peter had returned to his book.

“Peter, I…” Noir trailed off, eyes still fixed away from Peter. _Look at him._

“Yeah, Noir?” Peter closed the book again, sitting forward, attentive.

_Look at him._

“I wanted to- I,” Noir’s voice was quiet, subdued. “I need to apologize. For what I said to you. It was… wrong.”

Peter was quiet for a moment. Noir didn’t want to look at him.

_Look at me._

“I shouldn’t have… you’ve done so much for me, and I shouldn’t be… I don’t want you to think that I…” Noir’s voice was quivering and he did _not_ want to cry. “You’re important to this team, you’re important to me, and I know that, that you are trying.”

Noir still couldn’t look up. _Look at me!_

“I don’t have the right to blame you for giving up. Not when I… not when I did, too. You’re a good Spider, one of the best, and I… do care about you. You trusted me, and I... I didn't... I...”

Noir heard the sound of rustling, could hear footsteps approaching. Even though he knew it was Peter, had to be since he was the only one there, he could not sense him, and could not be put at ease by rationality when he had relied on instinct for so long.

_Look. At. Me._

Noir looked up as Peter sat down beside him, about a foot distance between them.

“Noir…” Peter felt around for words for a moment. “I know. You’re going through some stuff, and I didn’t take it personally.” He hesitated. “You didn’t give up, Noir. You’re still here, right? That means you kept going.”

“I didn’t want to. I tried to… I tried to…” Noir was shaking and _look at me_ he couldn’t look away from Peter. He looked so kind, but that would change he knew it would change because he was _weak_.

“It doesn’t matter, Noir.” Peter said determinedly. “You are here now, and that’s all that matters.”

“Peter…” It came out a plea, begging for forgiveness for something that he could not even know had happened.

“It’s okay, Noir.” Peter placed his hand, palm up, between them. A silent invitation.

Noir wanted to take it, he needed that contact in some primal, instinctive way he could not understand. But, he could not bring himself to be touched.

After a moment, Peter dropped the hand, and Noir felt even more guilty. Peter didn’t seem to bothered, though, and flashed him an awkward grin. “Whenever you’re ready, let me know.”

“... I will.”

It was a promise. Whether Peter knew it or not, Noir was bound and determined to, someday, maybe, eventually, be able to take that hand.

If only to make Peter smile for real.

“So, uh, how’re you healing up?” Peter asked. “Since you’re one of us, you should be okay in, what, a week?”

Peter stopped himself, frowning. “Actually, you should already be showing signs of healing. Why aren’t you-?”

“My body did heal them.” Noir said stiffly. “But he… he kept making more. I will… be recovered, by the end of the week at the latest.”

Peter spoke again, carefully, “Noir, when you say he ‘kept making more’, do you mean you already had begun to heal when the injuries were re-opened?”

Noir’s eyes drifted back to his hands. _LOOK AT ME!_ Noir’s eyes shot back up to Peter’s face, which was now full of nothing but concern.

Noir licked his lips. He hated begging, _hated_ begging, but he knew it was the only way to get it to stop, to get it to stop, stop, stop, stop please no stop I can’t do this please stop I promise I won’t look away please I won't look away again-

“Noir?” Peter was still looking at him in that same way, all concern and care.

“Please…” Begging. Noir felt like he was going to throw up, but kept his eyes fixed on Peter’s. _Look at me._ “Don’t.”

Peter looked taken aback, but nodded almost immediately. “Yeah, yeah, no problem. It’s fine, don't even worry about it.”

They lapsed back into silence, although it felt significantly less tense than before. Noir wanted to thank Peter, for not forcing him to tell him. Noir knew that, if Peter had asked him again, he would have said. But he couldn't bring himself to say it, not when it came so close.

“I uh, I left my book over there.” Peter said. Noir glanced at him, and Peter shrugged. “It was lame anyways. Seen it before. Did you want to read something?”

“I can’t read.” Noir said, deadpan.

“Wait what?” Peter turned to Noir, eyes wide, but saw him suppressing a grin. "Are you trying to pull one over on me?"

Noir shrugged, biting his lip in an attempt to maintain composure.

“Oh man.” Peter laughed, a little harder than the moment really called for, just because it was such a relief to see Noir… normal. Or, as normal as he could be, anyway. “You need to tell the others that. I want to see Peni freak out.”

Noir chuckled. “She would demand I go to school.”

“Yeah.” Peter smiled, “She’s a good kid.”

“She is.”

More silence. It was the closest to normalcy Noir had felt in so long. But he felt like guilt pressing on his mind, needing to ruin this moment of "regular" with yet another reminder of how broken he was.

“Thank you, Peter.”

“For what?” Peter was genuinely curious.

“For saving me. I was… I thought I was going to die, there, alone. I didn’t want to die in darkness. Not without saying goodbye. So, thank you. For that.” Noir was staring just to the side of Peter's head, trying to _look at me_ but not quite being able to.

Peter looked sad, and, when he spoke, his voice was gentle. “It’s what we do for each other, Noir. We’re family, all of us. I- we all love you, we want to keep you safe.”

Noir nodded, quiet again, thinking to himself. About what, he wasn't really sure.

“Did we just bond?” Peter asked suddenly, trying to brighten the suddenly somber mood.

Noir, with some burst of courage, pulled from where he did not know, raised up his arm, placing it on Peter’s clothed shoulder and giving it a feeble squeeze. It was not Peter’s hand, it was not actual contact, but it was a closeness that Noir feared and craved. It was simultaneously too much and too little, Noir wanting to bury himself in Peter’s arms and run as far away from him as possible.

Peter remained stock still, silent, not wanting to scare Noir. He kept his hands firmly down, instead of reaching up to grab Noir's hand and wrap him into a hug. He couldn't seem a threat, not now, not when Noir was _touching_.

It had been cold, before. The metal room was so, so cold.

But Peter was warm. Noir could barely feel the heat through the bandages and cloth that separated his hand from Peter, but it was there, and he tried to focus on it, feel it in his fingers, feel it seeping into his skin and into his bones..

He wasn’t there anymore.

He was here. With Peter.

Noir swallowed hard, then answered, “Yes. I think we did.”

And Peter grinned at Noir, smile so wide and bright that it made Noir’s heart ache with longing.

But Noir could not touch, and he instead kept his hand in place, trying to soak up as much of _Peter_ as he could before he could not bear to hold onto him any longer.

That moment came all too soon, and Noir was pulling his hand back, body crying to keep holding on as his mind screamed at him to _not let him touch you_.

Peter didn’t look disappointed when Noir let go. No, he looked pleased, actually, even though Noir had barely managed to keep himself together in the meager 20 seconds he was holding him.

Noir’s hand felt cold. Looking at Peter smiling at him, though, made him feel warm.

In fact, it almost made him feel safe.

Almost.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this fluff? the start of a healing journey? or a brief reprieve in the torturous recovery process? is it all three? I don't know man, I'm just chillin.
> 
> I shamelessly beg for comments all the time so... please?


	19. Chapter 19

Noir wasn’t sure he was ready to leave the room again. Wasn’t sure he would be able to handle seeing… well, everything. This room had quickly become a place of comfort for him. There was nothing foreign, nothing unexpected. He didn’t have his spidey sense anymore, but in this room he could pretend he knew what was happening.

If he left, it would make it real.

But Peter had offered to take him to the kitchen again, to “try round two”, and he seemed to hopeful when Noir had agreed. In the moment, Noir had wanted to go, had wanted to move so badly, but now that it was happening he was afraid.

Noir was afraid.

That was really the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Noir didn’t make decisions based on his beliefs, or his thinking, or anything he held in esteem… he based all of his decisions off of fear, now. Fear of Peter being able to hurt in, fear of the others hating him, fear of the outside world that was suddenly so big and so _unknown_. Before he had wanted to leave this room because it was enclosed, and now he wanted to stay because it was familiar. Everything was based on fear.

But Peter was practically bouncing around in excitement, and Noir did not want to disappoint him. Not any more than he already had been, anyway.

So Noir gritted his teeth, right hand coming up to pick at the bandages on his left, and tried to remain calm as Peter opened the door, meandering out behind him.

This time, his hand found Peter’s shoulder easily, holding on as Peter walked down the hall, chatting incessantly.

Noir had decided that Peter dealt with stress by talking. He seemed to never shut his mouth when there was something bothering him, always seemed to have something to say. Right now, he was talking about Aunt May’s tea-making capabilities, something that Noir tuned out of pretty quickly, too consumed with his own worry to really focus on it.

By the time they made it to the kitchen, Noir was a bundle of nerves, and wishing he could just hide in some dark corner of the room and never leave.

They entered, and Noir blinked.

The chairs were gone.

Not moved to the side, not occupied, but just… gone. The table was surrounded by empty space, and Peter strolled past it as if there was nothing changed.

Noir felt his face darken with gray. They had changed it, for him. Someone had, anyway. Not Peter, he had been with him the whole time. Had it been one of the Spiders? May? Rio? Did it even matter, really? Noir put his hand against the tabletop, feeling its cool surface, cold leaching into his skin.

His face felt warm. The others had done something for him. They knew he was weak, knew he couldn’t handle seeing a piece of furniture without losing his cool. Couldn’t handle it.

Noir pulled his hand back from the table. Why did his brain always have to do this? Pull away his moments of happiness to reveal dark, painful truths? Of course they moved it so he wouldn’t freak out. They wouldn’t have wanted him scaring the kids. There was no one else there, something that Noir took guilty relief in. It meant he didn’t have to worry about seeing them. Or, more accurately, they didn’t have to see him.

“So, uh, we have some food.” Peter was digging through the fridge, pulling out random things. “Looks like there’s still some casserole left, and- oh hey, someone ate the rest of the chicken molé!”

Noir watched as Peter wandered around, clicking on the stovetop and slapping some food into a pan. Peter felt him staring, and looked up.

“What? I can cook.” He said in fake indignanity.

Noir raised an eyebrow.

“Okay… I can heat things up. But I can cook too!”

Noir shrugged, leaning against the table. He felt a little dizzy, head spinning from moving around so much. Peter was half-facing him, humming away, and Noir looked at the clock. Its hands read 3:00.

“Hey, Peter,” Noir kept his eyes on the clock, “What… what day is it?”

Peter glanced up, some emotion Noir couldn’t identify etching across his face. “It’s Sunday.”

“Sunday?” Noir repeated dumbly.

It wasn’t possible. He had only been taken for that short of time? It felt like he had been there forever, had been tied down and tortured for weeks. But it was only… it was only Sunday.

“When did… when did you find me?”

Peter’s face contorted more, and he turned his back on Noir to fiddle with the stove knobs. “Saturday night, about. When you weren’t around for Friday’s hangout.”

“Oh.” Noir wanted to say something more, but he wasn’t really sure how to explain it, so he didn’t. Instead, he stood silently, thinking. How long he stood there, he wasn’t really sure, but then Peter was sliding him a plate of steaming food across the table, hopping up on the opposite end of it.

Noir dug into the food, practically inhaling it. He had been purposefully ignoring his hunger, and the all-too-familiar pangs it caused. Lack of food had always been an issue for him, it was hardly of note here. Still, it came as a welcome relief to be able to finally decrease some of his pain, if only by a little. If he focused on the food, too, he could pretend to ignore the pain that radiated out across every inch of his skin.

All too soon, however, his plate was empty, and Noir tried not to look upset. Food was a gift, not an expectation.

“Here, I can get you some seconds, bud. You need it.” Peter said, tilting his head towards the stove.

Noir frowned. Peter had been quietly watching him eat, hadn’t eaten anything himself.

“Don’t you need some?”

“Oh, it’s no problem.” Peter waved his hand dismissively. “I can eat later.”

Noir frowned. “There might not be any, later, though.”

“It’s fine, Noir. Really.”

“No.” Noir stood upright, as best he could, anway. “Food isn’t… it’s not… you can’t just…” Indignation colored his voice. "I can't just-"

Peter glanced up at him, then did a double take. “Oh! Oh, right, I… uh, I forgot. Food. Right. You… your time period has… problems.” He paused. “Noir, look, this dimension doesn’t have that issue. There’s plenty of food, here. Take what you need, and they’ll be enough for the rest of us, too.”

“But… what if there isn’t?” Noir whispered, body sagging back against the counter, exhausted. “The kids… they need to eat.”

Peter smiled gently. “Believe me, Rio is making sure they’re eating plenty.”

“It feels wrong.” Noir said, pushing his spotless plate away from himself. “I can’t… I can’t…”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, bud.” Peter’s grin fell, morphing into concern as he reached out to almost touch Noir’s shoulder, “You don’t have to do anything right now, okay? We can get you some more food later.”

Noir felt some of the tension in his back loosen, the weight of guilt, however, unjustified, lessening. He wanted to thank Peter, but he knew that would just invite more questions. Noir couldn't risk the children starving. Not for him.

Peter shrugged. “Anyway, we can kinda do whatever, now. Do you want to talk to the others, or…?”

Noir hesitated again. He wanted to see them, but he knew they didn’t deserve that. They shouldn’t have to see him, all pale and shaky and _broken_. Little Peni shouldn’t see him suffering, and neither should Gwen or Miles. They were all kids. And Ham, well, he was a joyful creature, and Noir shouldn’t ruin that. Even Peter, really, shouldn’t be here right now. Being forced to babysit Noir while his own dimension was without a Spiderman, making him worry over him and make food for him while people could be dying. Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, because Peter quickly changed course.

“That’s okay, Noir, you don’t have to.” Peter was off of the table, now. “We can just go back to your room, okay?”

Noir hated himself for nodding.

“And maybe, after that, we can get Rio to take a look at you?” His voice was raised in slight hopefulness.

Noir didn’t want to let Peter down. Not again. So instead, he nodded, taking ahold of Peter’s shoulder and allowing himself to be led back to the room, passing by the other, closed doors in the hallway that must have led to other people.

Noir could grit his teeth and get through Rio touching him. Anything to make Peter know that this was not a waste of his time. That Peter having to deal with him wouldn't be an exercise in futility.

\------

Rio, as it turned out, was not touching him at the moment. Instead, she was politely informing him that she was going to be.

“The good news is that it appears your accelerated healing abilities are intact, if… less accelerated than usual. I believe your injuries would benefit from removing the bandages, and letting them breathe.”

Peter was nodding, too., peering over Rio's shoulder to look under the bandage she was lifting up to check under. “Normally I’d have healed enough as of this morning. Looks like your timeline just got halved, is all.”

“Right. Now, I’m going to remove them, okay?”

Noir flinched back as she reached out. “Can I… Can I do it myself?”

Rio frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her hand had already been on him, had already been touching the bandage. It shouldn't bother him. But it did.

“I don’t… I don’t want…” Noir searched for words, eyes moving to Peter. He didn’t know Rio, didn’t trust her. She couldn’t hurt him, not like Fisch had, or how Peter could, but he still trusted Peter on some fundamental level. Peter could throw him through the wall, beat him to a pulp, step on his throat and choke him to death. But he wouldn't. 

At least, Noir didn't think so. He could guess at Peter's actions. He couldn't guess at hers. No one ever helps people just because they can. Not like she claimed.

Peter glanced up from Rio, catching Noir's eyes. “Oh! Oh, yeah, I can- I can do that. In-instead.”

Rio looked back at him, raising an eyebrow. “Do you have any practice with this?”

“Yeah. Have to wrap myself up all the time, ‘s no biggie.” Peter shrugged flippantly. “It’ll be a normal weekday, right?”

Rio blinked a few times. “You… get hurt that often?” Her voice was edging between concern and disbelief.

“Well… yeah. Someone has to stop the bad guys.” Peter shrugged. "Point is, I can do it fine."

“I see.” Rio frowned, “Well, I suppose you could do so, if Noir would prefer-”

“Yes.” Noir hadn’t meant it to come out so rudely, but he didn’t like the idea of being touched. Not by anyone, certainly not by a stranger. At least with Peter, it would hurt less.

“Okay, then." Rio was, once again, unbothered. "I’ll leave, but if there’s _anything_ that happens, I expect you to let me know immediately.” She let go of the bandage she was holding to and moving away. As she let go, the tension in Noir's body that he wasn't even aware of vanished.

“Yes ma’am.” Noir replied, trying to sound more apologetic. She gave him a small smile as she vanished back through the door.

Peter turned to Noir, nodding a couple of times, forcing a grin to his face. “Okay, well, let’s get this party started, shall we?”

Even though Peter’s voice was warm, Noir was not put at ease.

All he could do is pick at the bandages on his arms, and try to make it through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> real life has been wack, sorry for not updating for like 3 weeks lol
> 
> next chapter will have more oof, this one is really just so i could post something and get everything set up for the next chapter.


	20. Chapter 20

Noir was still, tension rolling off of him in waves. The only thing moving was his bandaged chest moving up and down with his slightly too-fast breaths, and his eyes, as they tracked Peter’s movements across the room.

Peter knelt down in front of Noir. He looked so nervous, so uneasy. It made Peter’s heart ache, seeing him like this. Noir wasn’t supposed to be scared of him. Noir wasn’t supposed to be afraid of him.

But, well, that was the sacrifice Peter made the minute he punched that Nazi. Now he had to deal with it. All he could do is hope that Noir would continue to allow touch, if only for a little while longer.

Peter picked up the pair of medical scissors Rio had left him, noting how Noir’s eyes immediately fixed onto them. His right arm curled further against himself, as if that could ward off further injury. As if Peter couldn’t move a broken arm aside and do whatever he wanted anyway. He could. But Peter would never. Not to Noir. Not when he was looking at him with wide eyes and a body that practically heaved with each light breath.

“Noir, are you ready?” Peter asked softly.

Noir nodded once, shortly.

“Are…” Peter licked his lips, “Are you sure you want me to do it? Because-”

“Yes.” Noir cut him off, eyes flicking from the scissors to Peter’s face for a brief moment. “Please. It has- it has to be you.”

“Okay.” Peter replied quietly, “I’m going to start with your back, okay? Let me know if you want me to stop.”

Noir nodded once again, reverting to silence and Peter moved behind him, even though his head turned slightly to keep him in his sights.

“Noir, you will tell me if you want me to stop. Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Peter felt oddly relieved at that agreement, even as he knew that it was probably meaningless.

Gleaming silver scissors cut through bandages like butter. Peter had picked the back, so Noir could relax before Peter had to face him. Before he had to tower over Noir with sharp silver. The first few bandages came up easily, drops of black only barely staining them. Noir’s shoulders and back were more damaged from scrapes than from the knives Fisch had been so fond of using. As Peter followed the symmetrical lines down Noir’s back, his face slipped into a frown. These little cuts looked like they were from being dragged across the ground, more than anything else.

At least they would heal quickly. Small mercies, right?

“I’m going to come around beside your left, now.” Peter said, scooching to the side. A few bandages adorned Noir’s shoulder here, black barely tingeing through the white bandages. These, too, came off easily, although they were most certainly not made by the environment. Long cuts that slipped down past the bandages Peter removed, inching further down into the mass of white that still had to be peeled off. One of them, one of those cuts was the one that ran all the way down Noir’s side.

Peter was not looking forward to seeing it.

In a sick way, this was like unwrapping a monstrous present. Every single layer came off to reveal what was underneath, a mass of pain. The bleeding had stopped, generally, although all of the incisions still looked an angry shade of gray. The bruising, too, was slightly lighter, although that could have just been Peter’s imagination from all the white.

As Peter cut across Noir’s body, peeling away bandage after bandage, he was surprised to find that Noir was still… well, not calm, that was for sure, but not lashing out at him or getting caught in a memory. He was watching him suspiciously, but his eyes were clear, focused.

Noir was fully aware of what Peter was doing.

“I’m done here, I’m going to your other side now.” It had turned out that the far cut had been the one that went all the way down to Noir’s hip. The bottom of it was so deep, it was still slightly oozing black, and Peter wondered how it hadn’t punched through bone. Unless it had, Peter realized, fingers clenching around the handle of the scissors for a moment as he struggled to keep his cool.

Screw the consequences, he was beginning to rethink the not-killing-the-Nazi plan.

Convincing Noir to move his arm was a struggle, as Noir momentarily refused, closing his right arm further into his chest. Noir had started trembling again. Nowhere near the full-on shaking fits he’d had when Peter had first brought him to May’s house, but the last thing Noir needed was to have another panic.

Peter tried to keep himself from sighing. “Noir, c’mon, I can’t help you unless you move it.”

Noir grimaced, but slowly moved his arm aside, shifting so that Peter could more easily access his right. The trembling was still there, but it was contained for the moment.

Peter smiled softly. “Thank you, Noir.”

Noir nodded once, jerkily. Peter took it as a win, and began cutting and peeling away these bandages, too. Thankfully, Noir’s right side’s damage seemed mostly confined to his arm, as there were only a few incisions here and there. One in particular looked more like a stab than a cut, a punched hole towards Noir’s shoulder, bleeding a little bit, just the same as at Noir’s hip.

Peter nodded, “Okay, Noir, you can put your arm back, if you want to.”

Immediately, Noir tucked his arm back to his side, grimacing at the motion. It wasn’t exactly comfortable to hold a broken arm in the air, after all.

The next part Peter was really, really not looking forward to.

Bandages, these ones more heavily stained through with black, crisscrossed over Noir’s chest and torso, inching up to cover swathes of his neck. Tape held these bandages in place, the injuries too risky to be wrapped up all around like some of the others.

“Noir, do you want a break?” Peter asked carefully, “This is a lot for you to deal with right now.”

Noir shook his head. “Just get it over with.”

“Are you-?”

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure.”

“Okay, yeah, got it.” Peter backtracked, “I’m going to uh, start now, then.”

Peter could feel Noir’s eyes burning a hole in his hand as he reached up, cutting, and then peeling away, the first bandage. Then another. And another. Peter was going for the smaller ones, the shallower ones, first, in the hopes that it would put Noir at ease before he did the bigger ones.

Noir gritted his teeth so hard Peter could hear it as he peeled back a bandage covering a long, horizontal scratch on his ribs. It was crisscrossed by another, vertical one going up. Peter frowned, beginning to remove the other bandages around it.

For some reason, something about these ones seemed different. The other cuts were jagged, angry, running deep or lightly but always ragged, at least a little.

These ones were so exact, so clean cut, even as it ran deep, was troubling.

Another bandage fell away, and Peter felt his breathing catch. _Oh._

It was… He tried not to gag.

Noir was the one who broke the silence, left arm coming up to curl across his torso with his right. “I didn’t want them to.” His voice was pleading, begging for Peter to understand, to not be angry.

“I know. I know. It’s okay, Noir. It’s okay.”

“It was my punishment. For trying to escape.” Noir’s voice was so quiet, so broken. “He made it so they could always identify me.”

Peter’s blood boiled. He reached out, fingers almost brushing over the deep, perfectly cut swastika etched into Noir’s skin.

“It’s okay, Noir. It’ll be okay.”

Peter met Noir’s eyes, which were wide and desperate. “It’s okay, Noir.” His hand was still hovering just off of Noir’s skin, suddenly unable to move. He could feel Noir beginning to tremble, could see the way his eyes were shifting around and starting to lose focus that if he didn’t do something fast, Noir was going to slip back into his own personal hell.

“Talk to me, Noir. Say something.”

Noir was looking at Peter, but not seeing him. His fingers were spasming slightly, and the trembling turned into shaking.

“Noir? Noir!” Peter wanted to move, but didn’t dare. He knew that would make it worse.

“I’m sorry,” Noir choked out, “Please, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Noir, it’s okay. Don’t apologize, it’s okay-”

_Noir was pale, fingers scrabbling against the dirt as Fisch dragged him by his legs back to that infernal chair._

_“Just let me go. Please, just let me go. I can’t do this, I can’t, just let me go already.” Noir felt his nails chip and crack as he was pulled back, felt the dig of uneven cement and pebbles in the dirt against his back._

_Fisch was silent, fuming, his face tinged gray with anger and his eyes dark, as he slammed Noir back into the chair. Noir tried to push back against him, tried to kick and hit, but the effort was weak, and he missed Fisch more often that he landed a hit. The few times he did manage to hit flesh, Fisch returned in kind, with quite more force._

_A closed fist smacked against Noir’s temple, and he felt himself go limp._

_“You little-” Fisch was furious, screaming curses. His hand wrapped around Noir’s throat, squeezing tight. Noir choked at the pressure, eyes welling with tears unwillingly, wanting to fight but his body wasn’t moving anymore. After a few moments, Fisch let him go, Noir’s head falling back as he gasped in air._

_That airless gasp turned into a guttural scream as a knife drove itself into his shoulder. Noir cried out as Fisch pulled the knife out savagely, spurt of black following after it._

_“I’ll teach you to try to run. There’s no escaping us, you understand me? None. No matter where you try to go, there is no way out. We’ll find you.” Fisch’s face slowly morphed into a grin. “I’ll make sure of it.”_

_The knife dipped down from Noir’s shoulder. “I’ll make damn sure.”_

_Fisch made sure to tell Noir what he was doing with every cut, every single little cut. “Now, you have to stay extra still for this one, I can’t have it be all squiggly now, can I?”_

_When Fisch stepped back, admiring his work, “Now, when I throw your body at the feet of the Führer, all will know that we were the ones who brought down the great Spider-Man.”_

_Noir felt the burn of the cuts into his skin and flesh, and knew Fisch was right. He was marked, now. Marked by the very thing he had tried to fight against all his life._

Peter’s hands were on either side of Noir’s face, cupping it. “Hey, hey, Noir, you’re safe. You’re safe.”

Noir blinked, feeling his eyes burn, his vision watery. Peter’s hands went still, stopping their current occupation of wiping away the tears that spilled out of Noir’s eyes. Peter had never seen Noir cry before. Noir cried silently, his body shaking like a leaf, tears falling quickly and without end.

Noir blinked again, eyes fixing on Peter’s face with something akin to panic, casting his gaze all over Peter’s body, as if searching for something. His gaze followed Peter’s arms down to his own face, then froze. Not even shaking, just stock still. Peter let go immediately, drawing back.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t- I didn’t know what to do. You started choking, I…” Peter trailed off at Noir’s carefully blank expression.

“The least you could’ve done is kept going. That way I wouldn’t have to be aware for all of this.” Noir’s voice was thick,even as his face remained emotionless. “Just be done, already.”

“Alright.” Peter replied quietly, fingers creeping up to hover over one of the bandages, scissors in the other hand.

“You can start you know.” Noir said shortly.

“Right.” Peter took a deep breath, then cut through another bandage. Noir was no longer watching him cut through it, anymore, instead watching Peter’s face with scrutiny.

The rest passed without incident, until all that remained was the bandages wrapped up Noir’s neck. Peter was hesitant to touch these, knew that it would undoubtedly trigger something again.

Noir frowned. “Aren’t you going to finish?” His voice was steady as it could be, but his eyes betrayed his fear.

“Noir, I think we should take a break-”

Noir ignored Peter, instead reaching up and digging his fingers under the bandages, pulling them up and away from his skin, uncovering the burns underneath. Noir tossed the bandages aside, before latching onto another.

Peter caught Noir’s arm automatically. Noir ripped his arm out of Peter’s grip, and Peter let him.

“Don’t you dare try to touch me.” Aggression, barely covering the panic.

“Sorry.” Peter said, tucking his hands back towards himself.

Noir tore off the bandage with a growl of frustration. “Don’t take advantage of me when I’m out of it, either. Trying to put your hands all over my face like… like…” Noir’s lips twisted, “Like I’m your pet.”

“I’m sorry, Noir. I didn’t mean to-” Peter stopped himself. “I’m sorry.”

Noir ripped off the last bandage. “So am I. I told Rio I could do it myself.”

Peter’s face fell, and Noir looked away for a moment.

“I… I did appreciate your help.” Noir admitted softly, “But,” His voice hardened again, “That doesn’t mean you can just go touching me whenever you want to. Especially not when I’m… like that. I’m not in control of myself, I might have hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Noir.” Peter said. Noir couldn’t have, not like this. A solid punch, maybe, but nothing that could really hurt him. Not when Noir was like this.

“I could have.” Noir frowned.

“Noir-”

“Just… don’t touch me. Got it?”

Peter’s heart ached. One step forwards, two steps backwards.

“Yeah, Noir. I got it.”

Noir looked so relieved, it made Peter feel sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a speedy update to make up for my lateness last time.
> 
> comments are fun.


	21. Chapter 21

Peter was tired. He had barely slept over the past few days, so fixated on watching over Noir. But now, with Noir not-so-subtly kicking him out as Rio watched him, he was hopeful that - just maybe - he’d have a chance to take a nap.

Guilt at leaving Noir alone, even at Noir’s request, kept eating away at him, though, and he found himself instead wandering through the house aimlessly. He had been looking for the others, hadn’t seen or heard from them in a while now. They’d been tactfully avoiding Noir to make him more comfortable, but Peter was sure that, now he was alone, all of them would be launching themselves at him, demanding information about Noir.

Sure enough, as Peter rounded a corner, he came face-to-face with Gwen, who was hanging down from the ceiling.

“Peter.” She flipped down, landing in front of him. “Walk with me.”

Peter didn’t protest, instead allowing Gwen to lead him into the living room. Miles, Ham, Peni, and May turned to face him as he entered. Gwen sat down on the floor, Peter doing the same, silently bemoaning his poor back being subject to this, yet again.

In a weird way, this reminded Peter of the obligatory-hangout from Friday. Was it strange, that those few days felt like it was decades ago? Peter certainly felt older, and, judging by the harried expressions of the others, they felt the same way.

Peni wriggled her way to lean against Peter’s shoulder, Sp//der nestled between her hands.

“So.” Gwen said, leaning back on one arm, “You gonna update us?”

“I don’t know what there is to say.” Peter said slowly, rubbing a hand over his eyes. God, he needed a nap.

“Does Noir really not have his spidey sense?” Miles asked.

“No, he doesn’t.” Peter said, dropping his hand. “Rio thinks it’ll come back, though, once he’s all healed up.”

“Thinks, or hopes?” Gwen again.

Peter didn’t respond.

Ham spoke up, “Maybe a musical production would cheer him up? I can recite any of the _My Little Pony_ documentaries for him.”

“Documentaries?” Miles mouthed, Gwen shrugging back.

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think that’d help him right now.”

“Oh.” Ham looked disappointed. “You know, I make jokes and have fun. It’s how I was made, y’know? But I don’t know what to do here, if I can’t… cheer people up.”

“It’s okay, Ham. Just being here for him now is making him feel better. All of you.” May spoke up, “He might not be able to see you right now, but he is happy that you are all here.”

Miles nodded, fiddling with his jacket. All of them had new clothes on, courtesy of Ham’s _pocket_ pocket dimension. Miles had his mask pulled up, leaving his face visible, but able to cover it in a moment’s notice as needed.

How Miles had managed to keep his identity secret from Rio for so long was a mystery, but JJ Jameson still didn’t know about Peter, so maybe it wasn’t that hard to believe.

The six of them sat there in an uncomfortable silence. Peter’s eyelids felt like lead.

“He’s going to be okay.” Peni said finally. “Like you said, nothing can keep him down. He’s Noir.”

Gwen looked like she was going to say something, but opted against it, instead resting one hand on Miles’ shoulder.

“I hope so.” She said finally.

Miles said something else, but Peter was having a hard time focusing on the words.

Peni tapped him lightly, dragging him out of his stupor.

“Are _you_ okay, Peter?”

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.” Peter waved his hand dismissively. “Sorry, Miles, what were you saying?”

“Oh, uh, I was just asking when Noir would be okay to have visitors.” Miles said softly. Everyone turned to face Peter more fully, eyes fixing onto him, mix of concern and hope hitting each of their faces.

“I don’t know. He… isn’t really looking for my company right now. Maybe one or two of you would be okay? Depending on what he wants.” Peter tried to stifle a yawn.

May frowned at that. “Peter, dear, why don’t you rest? You look tired.”

“I am tired.” Peter admitted, “But what if someone needs me?”

“We got it under control, Peter.” Gwen said firmly, “Now for God’s sake, sleep already.”

“I don’t think-”

“Look,” Ham interrupted, “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.” Ham pulled out an oversized mallet, “But you will be taking a snooze whether you like it or not.”

“No fighting in my house.” May rebuked. Ham’s ears drooped as he stuck the mallet back into his pocket, muttering something that sounded like cursing, but was somehow censored.

“C’mon, Peter.” May stood up, “I’ll take you to a spare room.”

“It’s fine, really, I’m not…” Peter began to protest, but May fixed him with a glare and he trailed off.

Peni scooted to the side so Peter could slowly get to his feet, one hand on his back as it cracked and ached. Following after her made him feel like an old man. He really needed to be more careful. He could usually accommodate his spine pretty well, but with everything going on with Noir, he could begin to feel it taking its toll.

Miles followed a little bit after the two of them, mask back on. May stopped Peter in front of a closed door, opening it. Miles slipped past them, continuing towards Noir.

It was Peter’s room.

Well, other Peter’s room. This universe’s Peter. It looked practically untouched, photographs plastered across the wall above a desk on one side, a few posters and memorabilia on the other. The sheets still looked like they were changed regularly, and there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere to be seen.

Did May come in here every week, tidying up for a son that would never come home?

Peter shook his head, taking a step back. “May, I can’t- it’s not my place.”

“Nonsense, Peter.” May said. She, too, looked stiff, as if she was letting him waltz into a sanctuary. In a way, that was true. “I saw you hobbling around. This is the only spare bed we have. My Peter won’t mind.”

The unspoken truth - that her Peter was dead - was left unspoken in the air.

“Please, Peter.” May sounded just as tired as he felt. “You’ve taken good care of Noir. Now let me take care of you.”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it, nodding. “Okay. Thank you, May.”

She ushered him inside, saying a quick, gentle, “Sleep well,” before closing it after him.

Peter stood in this room that was his but was most certainly, certainly not, for a moment, before stumbling across it to the bed. May was right, of course. He could barely even stand at this point, and he wouldn’t have been able to make it another hour on the floor. Carefully lowering himself onto the bed, Peter nearly moaned aloud as his aching back hit the soft mattress.

He barely had time to shift both of his legs onto the bed, before he was practically comatose, nearly immediately falling into a deep, exhausted sleep.

\------------

Miles edged down the hallway, double checking to make sure his mask was firmly in place, tucking his sketchbook under one arm, before peeking his head into the slightly ajar door to Noir’s room.

Noir was sitting on the floor, cross legged, practically drowning in a gigantic t-shirt. Meanwhile, mom- _Rio_ , Miles reminded himself, was sitting across from him. They were speaking quietly, m- Rio holding up something from her bag. Noir looked attentive, eyes fixed on Rio completely, seeming to be trying to absorb whatever knowledge she was offering. He seemed… aware.

Miles knocked on the doorframe, and Noir’s whipped around, tensing. Seeing Miles, he relaxed slightly, although not by much, and certainly not as much as Miles had hoped.

Miles cleared his throat, and then asked, in the deepest voice he could manage, “Could I come in?”

Rio raised her eyebrow at the clearly fake voice, but chose not to comment, instead looking to Noir.

Noir nodded shortly. “Spiderman.” He waved his hand, mostly hiding a wince as he did so, “Make yourself comfy.” He turned to Rio. “Thank you for explaining the medicine.”

“Of course, anytime.” Rio said, before taking her leave, patting Miles on the shoulder as she passed him by.

Miles let out a sigh of relief once she was gone, checking over his shoulder before pulling his mask up.

“Hey, Noir.” He said brightly, “I wanted to stop by and see how you were doing.”

Noir shrugged. “I’m alive, so better than expected.”

“That’s good.” Miles said awkwardly. He fiddled with the edge of his book, before saying, “I’m… I’m really glad you’re okay. The others want to see you, too. They’re worried.”

Noir smiled tightly, “Yes, well, we can’t all have what we want.”

Miles frowned. “Did, did something happen? With you and Peter? It’s just,” Miles continued hastily, “He hasn’t left your side this whole time, until just now.”

Noir stiffened. “It’s not relevant. The others are all welcome to come by, if they so choose.”

“That’s good. I’ll… I’ll let them know.” Miles nodded. “I, um, I know that in your dimension, it’s all black-and-white. And, uh, well,” Miles was twitching a little, but stopped when Noir seemed to become more uneasy. “I wasn’t sure what to do to make you feel better, but I thought you’d want something to, uh, cheer you up.”

Miles opened up his notebook, taking out a loose sheet and handing it to Noir. “I, uh, I hope you like it.”

Noir took it carefully, fingers light to avoid wrinkling it, and lifted it up to see.

It was some sort of pattern, a mix of bright colors, overlapping and melding together. Noir wasn’t sure what most of the colors were even called, and there wasn’t a distinctive shape, but it looked… well, like nothing he’d ever seen before.

Noir’s eyes felt slightly damp, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. “It’s beautiful.” Noir said honestly, looking up from it to Miles’ eager face. “Thank you.”

Miles beamed, practically bouncing with joy.

Noir felt a smile spread across his face, placing the drawing carefully off to the side, out of harm’s way but still in his line of sight.

“I should go and let the others know they can see you now.” Miles said, regretfully pulling away.

Noir nodded. “That would be nice.”

“We all love you, Noir.” Miles said firmly, “I love you, man.”

Noir nodded again. “I… I know. I’m sorry, Miles. I can’t- It’s not easy for me to-”

“It’s okay, Noir. I understand.” Miles said kindly. “I’ll go and let the others know. Should… should I let Peter know, too?”

Noir hesitated, then shook his head. “He spends too much time worrying over me. He needs a break. Maybe… maybe later, yeah?”

“Sure.” Miles stood up, grinning again. “They’ll be really excited.”

But, as Miles shoved his mask back on and speed-walked back to tell the others, he couldn’t help but note Noir’s hopefulness towards the end of his sentence was just past the edge of melancholy. Miles wasn’t sure what was going on, but he hoped that, whatever it was, Peter and Noir worked out.

Frankly, Miles wasn’t sure Noir would be able to make it without Peter by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got some spiderfam in this chapter :) Miles is a smol bean and Beter needs a nap
> 
> I know, I know I have been a very bad WIP author. But, now that it's ~summer~, I should be able to update more frequently/consistently. So there's that!
> 
> Comment? Mayhaps?


	22. Chapter 22

After Miles, Noir was expecting the others to come by. They came, in fact, sooner than he had expected.

Barely a minute had passed since Miles left, before the sound of knocking against the door interrupted Noir’s thoughts.

Peni, unsurprisingly, was first. Noir figured they had all argued selflessly over who would visit him next, determined to give one another the soonest meeting. For some reason, they all considered visiting Noir to be a desirable thing. He didn’t understand it.

But, Noir did bask guiltily in the fact that they did not hate him. He deserved to be hated, he knew, but they did not.

Certainly Peni did not, as she launched herself at him the moment she saw him. Noir bit back a grunt of pain as her body collided with his, not wanting to scar her any further than he was sure he already had.

Peni wrapped her arms around his neck, though, and that made Noir freeze up. So much for not wanting to make her worry, he lamented, as Peni pulled back immediately, scooting further from him, her eyes instantly filling with tears.

Noir’s body ached at the loss of contact, even more than it had from the borderline painful interaction.

“Peni.” Noir said softly, “I am happy to see you.”

Peni’s watering eyes gave way to full-on crying, and she latched herself to his unbroken arm desperately.

“We were so worried about you!”

She was so young. Brilliant, sure, but young. Noir had started being Spider-Man when he was a teenager - Peni was a child.

“I saw you before, when Rio was fixing you.” Peni said, pulling back to look up at Noir’s face. “I thought you were going to die. There was so much blood, and, and you were screaming, and Peter was crying… I’ve never seen him cry and it was… I was so _scared_.”

Noir’s face fell. “You… saw me? When I was… hurt?”

Peni nodded quietly, wiping at her face. “Are you mad?”

“No, no, of course not.” Noir said slowly, “I’m just… you saw that? And you wanted to see me again?”

“You’re my friend.” Peni shrugged, like it was the most obvious statement in the world.

Noir blinked, at a loss for words. Slowly, his mind caught up to the rest of what she had said. “Peter was crying? Why?”

“Because you were hurt. You’re his friend, too.”

After a few moments, Peni nudged him. “Sp//der was worried about you, too. They kept trying to download assault survivor books, and wouldn’t talk to me for a while. You’re their friend, too.”

“Thanks.” Noir said awkwardly, “Where, uh, where is Sp//der?”

“They’re hiding in my pocket.” Peni said sadly, “They’re really upset because they almost had to change your profile to ‘deceased’ and it was scary.”

“Oh. Would they like to come out, now? I’m not going to die.” _Yet._

Peni reached into her pocket, pulling out a miniaturized Sp//der. They scuttled back and forth on Peni’s hand, red eyes on Noir.

Noir held out his hand, and Sp//der jumped onto it, before doing a couple of little backflips.

“Thank you, Sp//der.” Noir said gently, watching as their entire screen brightened up in response.

After a few moments, Noir lowered his hand, allowing Sp//der to crawl back onto Peni, settling itself this time onto her shoulder.

“I wish I could stay longer, but I don’t want to make the others wait.” Peni said sadly, giving Noir another hug. Noir, this time, brought up his good arm to wrap around her back, carefully returning the hug.

Noir broke it off, the contact a little too much for him to handle. Peni didn’t seem upset, instead getting to her feet and tossing a, “Love you!” over her shoulder as she walked back to the door.

Noir didn’t reply. To Peni, though, he didn’t have to.

Gwen slid into the room only a few seconds after Peni left, crossing the room in a few long strides. She gracefully sank to the floor, crossing her legs underneath her. She, of everyone, seemed the most put together.

“Noir. It’s good to see you.”

“I could say the same.”

Gwen sighed, posture slumping slightly. “I’m really, really glad to see you. You had me - had us scared there, for a while.”

Noir nodded quietly. He was always pretty out of it, it seemed, but it was hard to forget that she was the one who he figured out he lost his spidey sense on. Of course it had scared her.

“I’m sorry, Gwen. This wasn’t something I ever wanted you to see.”

Gwen huffed out a laugh. “Noir, my world has more than enough violence to go around. My Peter… my Peter was turned into the Lizard. Experimented on. I had to kill him, to stop him from hurting people.” She shrugged. “Your case is different, but it’s all the same vein of stupid shit happening to good people.”

Gwen’s nonchalant attitude actually made Noir feel better. She cared, but she wasn’t going to get sensitive about it like Peni was, or emotive like Miles. She was just factual.

“Thank you, Gwen.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The spidey sense thing was what was really bothering her, though.

“It’ll come back, right?”

“I don’t know.” Noir answered truthfully. “It should. He didn’t inject me with anything, or give me any poison, so there should be nothing permanent.” Noir frowned, then added, “Besides the scars, anyway.”

Gwen sighed again. “This sucks.”

“Yep.”

“You don’t deserve this.”

Noir hesitated, before saying. “Well, no one does.”

Gwen grimaced, but didn’t push him on it.

“What are we going to do now?” She was asking more to herself than to him.

“We could awkwardly fist-bump?” Noir suggested anyway.

Gwen smiled slightly, raising one fisted hand. “Sounds sufficient.”

Noir forced his smile to remain in place. Maybe a fist-related thing was a bad idea. But then he looked up and saw Gwen’s face, trying to be neutral but with hope peeking out beneath. He couldn’t disappoint her. And it was just a weird high-five, anyway.

Noir raised his fist, and they knocked them together.

“Cool.” Gwen shrugged, even as her face split into a wide grin.

“Swell.”

They sat in silence for a while, until Gwen finally said, “Look, I get that you’re… in a weird spot, right now. But you can count on us. We’ve all got your back. May had to practically drag Peter to rest before this, and everyone’s committed to making sure you recover. I know how hard it is for you to talk about this, so I’m not going to press. I just want you to know that you have all of us in your corner.”

Gwen ducked out pretty soon after that, letting him know that Ham would be coming after her.

Ham, true to form, practically skipped into the room. Bright colors seemed to practically flow out around him, filling the room with energy.

“Noir! Good to see you, good to see you.” Ham said brightly, “I know you’re feeling down, so I came prepared!”

Ham pulled out a gigantic notebook and oversized pencil, along with a sofa and a chair.

“I am a licensed therapist, you know.” Ham said, pushing spectacles, that had appeared out of nowhere, up the bridge of his snout.

“I… no thanks.”

“Oh.” Ham’s ears drooped, before perking back up again. “Would a song number hel-”

“I don’t think so.” Noir said shortly. Then, he grimaced, and spoke again. “I’m sorry, Ham, I don’t mean to be… It’s a lot.”

“Yeah, no, I get it.” Ham flopped down into the chair. “Sorry, Noir.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t.” Ham shot back. “I only know how to deal with this toon-style. But you’re not one, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to work with it. This whole place is… strange, for me. Long-term unhappiness isn’t really a thing, you know? So I want to help, but I don’t think I can. Not like Miles, or Gwen, or Peter.”

Noir sighed. “Yeah. We’re both out of our depths here.” Ham was so colorful, like this universe. Sometimes Noir seemed to forget that he was even further out of the norm than Noir. At least Noir was human. Ham was just stumbling his way through, albeit with a smile and a god-awful song and dance number, this universe too.

Ham nodded, looking dejected. A little raincloud appeared over his head, and Ham waved at it, trying to shoo it away. “I’m sorry, Noir. I can’t control toon laws.”

Noir reached out, letting his hand go above Ham’s head, feeling a few drops fall onto his hand. It was real water, real rain.

“It’s alright. I… like it, actually.” Noir said, “It reminds me of my universe.”

It was strange, actually. Noir should have been repulsed by the rain, reminded of… his capture, but there was no rain then. Only a room with one locked door. The rain reminded him of MJ singing at the bar, crime-solving, just… his home.

It was nice in a sort of separated way. Noir relished in the rain, entertaining a connection that he knew he would reject if presented fully.

“Oh!” Ham brightened, causing the rain to begin to slow, and the clouds to dissipate. “Oh, wait, wait, hang on, hang on,” Ham concentrated, and the clouds reformed, rain falling down with renewed intent. Ham walked a few paces closer to Noir, sitting down on his lap, allowing the raincloud to cover them both.

“Is this alright?” Ham asked carefully, as Noir placed his hand on top of Ham’s head, patting it.

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Me too.”

In this, Noir felt like he was being honest. He was actually, truly glad to be alive. If only so he could have seen them all again.

Still, even after getting to see them all, Noir found himself longing to see Peter again. He had been able to touch each of the members of their little Spider-family, but Peter was the only one who still gave him pause.

And Noir was determined to change that. The next time Peter came through the door, Noir was going to take his hand.

Noir was going to do it. No matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter. time with the spiderfam this chapter. more healing (and angst) to follow.
> 
> comments.


	23. Chapter 23

Peter opened his eyes lazily, reveling in the softness of the bed beneath him. He hadn’t visited Aunt May in so long, it seemed like ages since he’d seen her. A blissful smile spread across his face. He was so excited to see his Aunt again. Why hadn’t he visited her before this?

Oh. Right.

Peter sat up as his smile fell.

He had forgotten. He’d done that a fair bit before, after she had died. Same thing with being divorced to MJ. His brain had a funny way of sticking into patterns, had a hard time accepting that people in his life were gone. It went away over time, as the new pattern established itself, but he found himself still tripping up on the old mindset occasionally.

Peter stood up, stretching again, although this time more for functionality than enjoyment. His back did feel a lot better, which was a comfort, although that comfort felt empty now. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing May, now, his heart heavy with the _it’s not her_ that seemed to strike him every now and then. He knew it was selfish.

But Peter had to be selfish about something.

He pushed open the door to leave, but then he paused, turned back around, and made up the bed. Fluffled the pillows. Straightened the comforter. He didn’t want May to feel the need to come in here again, not unless she wanted to. He couldn’t be selfish about this. It wouldn’t be right.

So, Peter left the room, heart feeling slightly less heavy, but sadness weighing just as much as before.

Peter can hear excited chatter coming from down the hall. He follows it, curious, and goes into the kitchen to see… the team laughing. They were all standing around the table, practically doubled over, as Ham did some sort of comedy bit. Even May was chuckling from behind her mug, and Rio was laughing behind one hand. He hadn’t seen them all smile since… well, since before this whole mess had happened. Certainly not the kids, who all looked like they were going to asphyxiate from laughing so hard.

They all seem to collectively glance up when he enters, acknowledging his presence, still grinning and wiping tears of laughter from their eyes.

“-and I said no, you know, like a liar-”

Gwen leaned over to Peter, still grinning. “We didn’t want to wake you up. You looked dead on your feet.”

“Oh, thanks. I appreciate it.” Peter looked around, unable to fully contain the concern in his voice. “Who’s with Noir?”

“Hm? Oh, he asked to be alone, ‘til you got up.”

“But… Noir told me to leave him alone.” Peter replied with a frown, “I don’t want to violate his space. Any more than I already have.”

Gwen didn’t seem bothered. “He said that before, but I think he’ll feel differently now. We all stopped by, and he seemed to be a lot happier afterwards.”

“I’m not sure-”

“Look, he wouldn’t have asked for you specifically if he was still upset about whatever, right? So, get over there and talk to him. He’s been waiting for you.”

Peter nods, and, a few minutes, and pieces of toast, later, is standing outside Noir’s door. He knocks on it, and then enters.

Noir looks up from something in his hands, face brightening when he saw Peter. His glasses were back, Peter noticed, catching the light from the lamp onto their edges. Their round shape seemed to soften the harsh scarring on Noir’s face, letting the gray lines almost fade into normal skin.

Peter stepped into the room, taking care to keep his distance from Noir.

Noir had asked Peter to give him space. Peter was going to make sure he was giving enough of it. He didn’t want to make Noir feel any more uncomfortable with his presence than he already did.

Noir, meanwhile, seemed completely at ease. His injuries on his face and arms had already begun to fade from the open, gaping, bleeding wounds. Now, they were angry, swollen gray lines that streaked across his body. The rest was hidden beneath the absurdly large shirt he was wearing, but it probably looked the same. The burns on Noir’s neck, too, were little more than bruised patches of skin. With any luck, there would be minimal scarring, if any. Peter didn’t want to see Noir add any new ones to his already-enormous collection.

“You’re looking… better.” Peter said after a few moments, “How’re you feeling?”

“Better.” Noir replied wryly, before tilting his head to the spot beside him. “I wanted to talk to you, about something.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Peter walked to Noir, fumbling around to sit beside him, unsure of how close would be too close for Noir.

_“Don’t you dare try to touch me.”_

Noir frowned as Peter finally settled a couple feet from him.

_“Just… don’t touch me. Got it?”_

Was he too close? Peter tried to surreptitiously scoot further away from Noir, but Noir’s frown deepened, and Peter stopped.

“Is everything all right, Peter?” Noir asked slowly.

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine. Are you all right?” He’d already asked that.

“I’m recovering well. Rio believes that the arm cast will be able to be removed soon.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes.”

Peter moved his hands from the floor to his thighs, noticing that Noir’s eyes followed them, his own hand flexing slightly. His eyes were full of some emotion, not exactly fear, but still too close to it for Peter’s taste.

Was he afraid Peter was going to reach out and grab him?

He didn’t want Noir to be afraid of him.

Peter casually slipped his hands up his legs, sliding them into his sweatpants pockets.

Noir’s expression shifts, and he reaches up to pick at the hemline of his shirt.

After a few moments of watching Noir fiddle, Peter asked, “What were you doing before I came by?”

“It was something Miles made for me.” Noir turned towards Peter, reaching around behind him to pick something up from the couch. As he did, his hand brushed against Peter’s arm.

Peter jerked back, “Sorry.”

Noir paused, eyebrows furrowing as he turned to look at Peter. “What for?”

“I didn’t mean to touch you, it was an accident-”

Noir shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I bumped you, it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a bi- _not a big deal?_ ” Peter spluttered, “Noir, I know that you didn’t want me to tocuh you, I _know_ how you feel about it. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, and you don’t need to pretend it’s fine for my sake.”

Noir shifted so he was facing Peter full on. His gray eyes were focused on Peter’s, and his hand dropped to his side.

“Peter…” He licked his lips, pausing. “I’ve been talking with the others, been working on… well, processing.”

Peter could feel his face light up with hope, even as he tried to keep it neutral.

“And something I’ve been thinking about is… uh, you.” Noir seemed to want to look away from Peter, but refused to do so. “You did so much for me. And I want you to know that without you, I would have been trapped there with… with him, until… until he killed me.”

“Noir-”

“No, I need to… let me finish, this.”

Peter fell silent.

“You’ve done nothing but offer help, help I… I couldn’t bring myself to accept. But, I _want_ to. I want to take it so badly, but I just… I can’t seem to will myself to do it.” Noir took a shuddering breath. “But, I think I’m ready. I think I can do this.”

“Do what?”

Noir wordlessly held out his hand, extending it towards Peter.

Peter blinked down at it. Noir was showing him with not just his hand, but his trust in Peter. He trusted Peter to touch him, and to not hurt him.

Peter took his hands out of his pockets, wiping them on the inside as he suddenly felt like they were sweating buckets. Noir’s hand was trembling slightly, whether from nerves or pain Peter wasn’t entirely sure.

Peter slowly reached out his left hand towards Noir’s right, and took Noir’s hand.

He had to be careful to avoid the many scratches, the sore skin where nails were missing. Noir’s hand was calloused, and Peter felt that the grip would be firm, if Noir wasn’t still so weak. It was a little cold, more so than Peter had been expecting, and slightly shaking.

He was holding Noir’s hand.

Peter was holding Noir’s hand.

Noir was staring at their linked hands, blinking slowly.

It was a little strange, actually. There had been so much buildup to this moment, and now that it was happening it seemed to be happening too fast, or too slow, or _something_. It had some level of unreality to it, like a sentient dream that was fake, but too tempting to wake up just yet.

“I wonder what this would feel like if I could sense you.”

It was a statement. Not emotional, not a question, just… an observation.

Peter felt his throat constrict. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’ve already gotten this far.”

“But what about when I can’t keep moving forward? What about when I slide back?”

“I’ll be there for you then, too.”

Also a statement of fact. Impassioned, yes, but still just… an observation. And a promise.

So, there they sat, one monochrome man covered in bolts of bloody gray, and one hopeful man who, for once, did not look tired, staring at the fragile link of entwined fingers between one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ h e a l i n g ~


	24. Chapter 24

Noir was content to sit here, _touching_ , for eternity. He wanted so badly to never let go of Peter. Once he did, the universe would go back to its unfamiliarity, its echoing quiet without his spidey sense to give him orientation. Peter made him feel safe when nothing else, not even Noir’s own head, could.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The rest of the Spider-team had been so sweet and helpful and kind, but there was some sort of weird unfamiliarity there. They were harder to gauge without his spidey sense, he couldn’t tell what they were feeling or thinking, aside from what they told him.

Peter, meanwhile… Noir couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling, either, but Peter was _Peter_. And Peter was good. Noir knew that, even without his sense telling him so.

Peter was good. Noir didn’t want to lose that.

But the feeling of his hand in his began to send itches up Noir’s spine, twitching and pulling at his skin. Contact, contact was dangerous and _it was Peter_ , but that didn’t seem to matter to Noir’s accursed body. It reacted of its own accord.

But Noir didn’t want to let go. His entire body twitched, and Peter pulled his hand back of his own accord.

“Noir, we can take a break, okay? You don’t need to force yourself to do something you don’t want.”

“But I _do_ want you,” Noir pleaded, “I want you so badly it hurts but I can’t- I can’t-”

Peter looked taken aback, eyes widening. “You… uh… oh.”

He didn’t look particularly thrilled, just confused, and Noir felt his heart sink. He shouldn’t have said that, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, he had to backtrack now before Peter hated him.

“It’s just, I know I’m making progress recovering, and being around you is proof of that, right?”

“Oh, yeah, no, I get it.” Peter tripped out, “I want you to recover, too, but rushing things might only set you back, you know? We have plenty of time, we don’t need to do anything you’re not completely comfortable with.”

“Right.” Noir nodded.

Noir had nearly died at the hands of Fisch, waiting. He would have gone off to Hell or wherever he was supposed to be heading without ever telling Peter what he meant to him. Pining around for all this time wasn’t worth it.

And now, now that Noir finally has an opportunity to say it out loud, he chickens out.

After Noir had _broken_ like some cheap toy, Peter was his solace. He would let his mind fix onto Peter’s face, his laugh, his awkward grin and stupid sweatpants. The colors of Peter were what Noir focused on, seeking it out as a comfort as the world kept darkening around him with specks of his own blood.

Noir had known he was going to die without seeing Peter. And now that he was here, alive, Peter sitting in front of him, _right here_ , Noir still couldn’t do it.

Noir was acting like a coward. If Peter looked at him with disappointment, Noir was sure it would break the few pieces of himself that were still intact. He just wasn’t strong enough. And Peter didn’t deserve someone so weak as Noir.

“Noir? Are you okay?” Peter asked suddenly.

Noir blinked. He must have been lost in his thoughts. He tried to keep his voice light, to hide the sudden drop in his mood.

“Oh, I’m fine. Just a bit tired.” As he said it aloud, Noir realized it was true. He was bone tired, exhaustion deciding to alert him to its presence in this moment.

Noir was seemingly always a bit tired now, injured body demanding rest above all else, and the stress of being touched had seemed to wear him out.

The fact that he had stayed up since the moment Ham left, so that he would be awake when Peter came by, probably played into it too.

“Oh, okay.” Peter replied immediately, “I can, I can go, and leave you be so you can, uh, get some rest.”

Noir wanted Peter to stay, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep himself from saying something stupid and ruining his friendship with Peter forever.

Still, it hurt Noir to see Peter leave, after giving a quick goodbye and that he would come by later, if Noir wanted.

And Noir did want him to.

_Noir opened his eyes slowly, jaw aching, bruise forming against the side of his face from where he had just been struck._

_Fisch was standing over him, holding a cigarette between his fingers, grinning._

_“Good to see you’re still with me. I’m not done with you, yet.”_

_Noir gasped out a whine as Fisch placed his free hand down on Noir’s shoulder, right against one of the many scratches, holding him still as he leaned further over him, towering._

_“You don’t get to pass out until I say you can, you understand me?” Fisch pressed his hand hard against Noir’s broken skin, fingers digging down into the wound._

_Noir hated how he cried out, body trying to pull away, but there was nowhere to go except the hard wooden back of the chair. Blood loss was making him dizzy, more of it on the floor or on the knives than was inside him, anymore._

_“Do you understand me?” Fisch roared, twisting his hand further, the barely healing injury erupting into an open mess, blood running over and down Fisch’s hand and arm._

_“Yes.” Noir choked out._

_“Good.” Fisch pulled away, and Noir sobbed in relief, body bending itself forwards slightly, trying hopelessly to defend himself from the endless onslaught of pain. His eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the sight of his blood covering the floor._

_A metallic clicking sound sent Noir’s head jerking back up. Fisch was lighting his cigarette with a lighter, shaking his head disappointingly at Noir._

_“I expected more from you. I told you already, no looking away. You know what happens when you don’t look at me, I have to punish you for it.”_

_Noir didn’t plead, didn’t beg. Not this time. He couldn’t. There was too much blood, now. If Fisch cut him again, he’d just bleed to death._

_Death had never seemed so tempting, before._

_Fisch was seemingly having the same thought, puffing on his cigarette, considering. Then, he glanced down at the cigarette in his hands, before looking back up at Noir, grin slowly sliding back onto his face._

_Fisch took half a step forwards, grabbing Noir’s neck and pulling his head up so that Noir was staring upwards, towards Fisch’s face._

_“I’ll see if you look away.” Fisch told him, before placing the lit cigarette against Noir’s throat._

_Noir flinched, but he was so weak, so dizzy, so trapped, all he could do was choke out a cry of pain. He kept his eyes open, fixed on Fisch, unable and unwilling to keep defying anymore._

_Fisch stepped back, cigarette having been put out. Noir could feel heat radiating off of the spot where it had been placed, watching with fearful eyes as Fisch simply relit, taking one puff of it before placing it against his neck once more, this time further towards his collarbone. Then again. And again. The same thing over and over, lighting it only to put it out again against Noir's skin, burning through skin and flesh. Noir was no longer capable of screaming, as it took too much effort and strength that he no longer had, but he hated how he cried out, gasping, sometimes soundless screams, encompassing into the quiet cacophony of misery._

_Why couldn’t Fisch just kill him? Why did Noir have to still be alive? This suffering, this pain, it never ended, it never stopped. It kept going and going, and it was being done at the hands of a Nazi._

_Noir’s eyes slid shut._

_“C’mon, now,” Fisch’s voice was… softer, almost. “I’m disappointed in you.”_

_Noir forced himself to open his eyes. Fisch looked different. His face seemed… off, eyes lighter, jaw squarer, even his facial hair seemed different, now._

_“I expected more out of you, Spider-man.” Fisch’s grin was no longer its twisted, wolfish expression, it looked a little crooked, more welcoming. The world seemed to be brightening around them, and Noir idly wondered if this was just a prelude to whatever new torture Fisch had in store._

_“Noir.” Fisch’s voice was beginning to sound like… no._

_“No.” Noir choked, eyes filling with tears. “No, no, not you, not you.”_

_Fisch smiled wider, but now it was Peter grinning at him, hand still holding the, now once again lit, cigarette._

_“What, Noir?” Peter asked, “What about me?”_

_“Not you, no. You’re good, you’re good. Don’t do this, don’t do this. It’s not right, this isn’t right, this isn’t you, why are you here you’re not supposed to be here, you’re supposed to save me you’re not supposed to hurt me I can’t-”_

_“Shut up.”_

_Burning. The smell of burning flesh mixed with the copper, metallic scent of blood. The smell of pain._

_It wasn’t Peter. It wasn’t. This was some trick, something wrong. Peter had rescued him, Peter had stopped Fisch. Peter had taken him to May’s house. Peter had… had held his hand._

_Noir’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not Peter. I must be… sleeping.”_

_Peter laughed, peeling away the cigarette and flicking the ashes into Noir’s face. “I decided rescuing you was a waste of my time, wanted to get in on the fun, instead.”_

_“No.” Noir closed his eyes. He was dreaming. He was going to wake up, now. He needed to get himself out of this._

_“Look at me!” Peter’s voice was mixing with Fisch’s, now._

_It was a dream. It wasn’t real._

Noir shot to his feet, panting for breath, one hand wrapping itself around his throat. He felt for the healing burns on his neck, gasping for oxygen that seemed no longer present. His other hand held his face, trying to block himself off from reality.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream.

“Not Peter,” Noir muttered to himself aloud, pleading, “Please, don’t bring Peter into this. He’s so good, don’t make me think of him like that, don’t make me. Please, I can’t… don’t make me afraid of him, too."

Why did Noir's head have to betray him like this? Peter was so close, so real and so pure and so good, and now Noir's brain was trying to get revenge on himself. Punish himself for daring to have feelings for Peter, for almost saying them aloud - or, perhaps, for not saying them at all.

Noir ran his fingers through his hair, before standing up straight, clearing his throat and finding his glasses, sticking them onto his face shakily. He was going to be fine. It was just a dream. And that wasn't his Peter.

Noir would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Healing? Angst? Comments? all three?
> 
> Note that Noir pulled ~himself~ out of the flashback/dream this time! It is an _improvement_ , even if it doesn't seem like it. (i tried really hard to show how noir is beginning to recover on his own too, pls notice and applaud me for this attempt)
> 
> Also why have I been updating on hecking Mondays so much, ugh summer's got me all off, and its a major RIP to my reader interactions smh


	25. Chapter 25

Peter felt… odd.

Well, not exactly.

_“I want you so badly it hurts but I can’t…”_

_“I want you so badly it hurts…”_

_“I want you…”_

He was being selfish again.

Peter shouldn’t have focused on those words, shouldn’t have let them get to him. Noir hadn’t meant what he said - in fact, he hadn’t even said anything. Noir had been talking about getting used to touch, and now Peter was projecting his own feelings. He was projecting his own attraction onto Noir, someone who had just been a _torture victim_ , when Noir had been trying to talk to him about his _progress_.

Peter was ashamed of himself.

How more selfish could he possibly be?

Peter leaned against the hallway wall, rubbing one hand through his hair. Noir didn’t deserve to have to deal with him.

Noir considered Peter a friend, an anchor in all of this chaos.

And Peter couldn’t get his head out of the clouds long enough to _actually_ be there for him.

He groaned, pushing himself off the wall and walking down the hall, away from Noir’s door. Peter needed to take a breather, try to get his fucking brain under control so he could focus on what was important - Noir. As. A. Hurt. Friend.

When Noir had held Peter’s hand, Peter had felt joy and guilt in equal measure. Noir had improved, was able to touch, and that made Peter happy, yes, but Peter was also, secretly, guiltily, happy that Noir was able to touch _him_. That Noir was now able to stand _him_ , was able to trust _him_.

It was wrong to feel that way.

Peter should not feel that way.

But he did.

Even now, thinking of it, even as Peter felt more and more guilt pile on, even as the wieght of how wrong it was to think of himself in that moment, Peter still felt happy.

It was selfish.

Peter didn’t really want to see the others, right now. He knew he didn’t really have himself under control right now, and he didn’t want to lash out at any of the others.

But Peter needed to do something, go somewhere. Anywhere.

Maybe he could pop back to his own dimension for a minute, check up to make sure everything was still under control.

It was his job, after all. But Peter knew how that sort of thing worked - once he went home, he’d be stuck on the backlog for weeks, and he didn’t want to leave Noir.

Maybe he could do something for Noir? What, though, Peter wasn’t entirely sure.

Peter absentmindedly scratched his wrist, then froze.

Noir’s webshooters hadn’t been on him when Peter had found him. And he knew Noir had had them before, because the Nazis had all been webbed up when he got there.

Huh. Weird.

Wait.

Oh-

“Fuck!” Peter cursed, checking the dimensional transporter and switching it on.

Of course Peter should have checked before. He should have known. Oh, no. Noir had probably forgotten, or assumed that Peter or Rio had removed them when he got to May’s. Peter had been so _stupid_ , he should have known that something was missing when he got there. He had been so caught up with Noir being hurt, he had forgotten about Spider-Man being protected, too.

Peter slammed his hand onto the transporter, rocketing himself into Noir’s dimension. He would only be gone a minute - and he knew that if Noir realized his webshooters were missing, he would freak out. And he couldn’t trust the others not to tell Noir, or advise against it, or ask to come with him.

Peter didn’t want the others to see this. Not the Nazis, not the blood. He was under no illusions that they encountered all kinds of horror in their universes, but he refused to show them this.

That, and Peter felt like he had to make it up to Noir for being selfish. Although, wasn’t that just selfish in and of itself?

Ugh. Whatever. Peter could agonize over his own morality later.

The world rematerialized in various slates of gray.

Peter supposed it was a mercy that the transporter saved coordinates - he doubted he would have been able to find the same warehouse again.

That being said, if anyone other than Peni had made it, he’d wonder if there had been a mistake.

Mainly because the warehouse was now decidedly not an empty, bloodstained mess. No, now it was a shipping-container filled mess.

A man - no, a boy really - was clutching a clipboard to his chest, mouth agape, staring at Peter.

“Oh, uh, hey.” Peter waved one hand, trying for a smile.

The clipboard fell to the ground, and the boy opened his mouth to scream.

Peter raised his hands. “Hey, kiddo, I’m not here for you. I’m just looking for a person who was here a little while ago. Do you know where he might have gone?”

The boy tilted his head, but didn’t speak, closing his mouth firmly.

“Okay, I get it.” Peter should have asked Ham for some gray clothes or something. The color couldn’t be helping the situation, much. “Look, I’ve worked with Spider-Man, and-”

“Spider-Man?” The kid’s face lit up with hope, “Is he alive?”

Peter frowned. Of course, Noir’s universe would be missing him, too. He had only been gone a few days, but… Peter looked at the kid in front of him, practically skin and bone, and felt another ounce of guilt push down on his shoulders.

“Yeah, kid, he’s alive.” Peter tactfully left out the part about bleeding half to death.

The kid’s face broke into a grin. “I knew it!” Then, his face sobered up. “Who’re you looking for?”

“I’m trying to find someone named Fisch. A Nazi. He took something of N- of Spider-Man’s that he needs back.”

“Oh.” The kid’s face screwed up in distaste. “Yeah, we know about that bastard. I’m ‘fraid whatever he has isn’t gonna be on him any more.”

“What do you mean?”

“He showed up dead yesterday. He had a bullet in his head! It was all over the newspapers, ‘nd the Mayor even did a whole speech about how we need to report suspicious behavior to the coppers. It was pretty wack, but I got this job after, so I was pretty good with it.”

“Oh. Do you know where he was killed?”

“His body was found over on the docks. Rumor is he was trying to make a run for it, ‘cause he was a Nazi.”

“Can you give me directions?”

Well. This would be fun.

Peter hoped he would be able to find the webshooters, or at least know for certain they were destroyed. At least then, he could put Noir at ease before he even remembered they were missing.

Peter didn’t want to make Noir worry. He wanted to make Noir happy, and safe, and loved.

Wait.

No, that wasn’t right.

Peter wanted to make Noir feel happy, and safe, and appreciated.

There. That was more accurate.

Although, for some reason, that corrected response made Peter feel worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not happy with this chapter :( sorry, better content in the future I promise.


	26. Chapter 26

Noir was nervous. His mind kept fizzling the image of Fisch back into his head, features oddly distorted to look like a pantomime of Peter. He felt jittery, constantly picking at the hem of his shirt. He felt bad about damaging the shirt, but he knew that otherwise he would end up picking at his healing skin, and he knew Rio - and Peter - would be disappointed in him.

Noir didn’t want to disappoint Peter.

Not that he really had a choice in the matter, since he undoubtedly already had, but still.

The only thing Noir knew he had control over was his own mind, and even that was seeming to be fuzzy. Had been, what with his inability to touch Peter, his paranoia, his panicked sleep and constant inability to prevent himself from reliving his torture over and over and over and _over and over and ove-_

But this felt new, felt dangerous. This new blur of Peter and Fisch.

Noir had a feeling that, left unattended, his brain’s attack on Peter would only worsen. Noir shuddered. He didn’t want to hate Peter, didn’t want to fear him. He _cared_ about Peter, far more than he should, or even had a right to.

Noir wanted to see Peter, wanted to hear his voice and remind himself that Peter was not Fisch.

He took a few moments to get his breathing under control, forced his arms to his sides to stop picking at the cloth, and stepped out into the hall. It was almost funny, how quickly he was able to memorize this house without his spidey sense, even as he was so slow to move through it.

Actually, Noir noticed, he was moving a fair bit easier than before. Most of his smaller wounds were healing up well. Ironically, there was a chance some of his scars would heal up to be smaller and less obtrusive than they had been before Fisch. Of course, there were a few that had no chance - the gash down his side, with the gaping hip wound, would certainly scar badly, and, as much as Noir hated it, the swastika gouged into his shoulder would most likely scar as well, since it had sliced so deeply into his flesh.

Noir popped his head into the kitchen, seeing Ham… well, doing _something_ on the stove, Peni watching him intently.

Peni glanced over. “Hey, Noir! Ham’s teaching me how to make his universe’s form of apple pie. Do you want to join?”

“No, thanks. Have either of you seen Peter, by chance?”

Both shook their heads, and Noir ducked out. The living room had Gwen playing cards with May and Miles, who invited him to join them, and had the same answer as Peni and Ham had before.

Finally, Noir stepped outside. He hadn’t really been outside since his capture - first he was too injured, and then he felt too vulnerable. Now, he reveled in the ceiling the sun on his skin and the faint smell of grass from the lawn. He saw Rio standing a small distance away, back to him.

Noir walked towards her, wary of startling her. He liked Rio, he really did. She was composed, smart, and took no shit. Unfortunately, he was always a bit wary of medical professionals, and, despite logically knowing she would not experiment on him, couldn’t quite stop himself from being a little nervous anyway.

“...using my vacation days! I told you, there are some things I need to take care of, still.” A beat of silence. “Fine, use some sick days too. I don’t care, just do it.” More silence. “Of course I told him what I’m doing, we’re married and I love him. But don’t even think of asking him, I didn’t tell him exactly what I’m doing. It’s called patient confidentiality, Karen, you should try it sometime.” Her voice was sharp, and more than a little passive-aggressive.

Rio sensed his presence, turning around. She placed one hand over the phone speaker, muting her end of the call. Her voice switched from anger to professional concern in a heartbeat. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

“No- well, yes. I was just wondering if you had seen Peter around, or if you knew where he had gone.”

“Sorry, hon, I haven’t.” Rio frowned. “I actually haven’t heard from him since he was with you - he probably had to pop off somewhere for a minute. Don’t worry.”

The voice coming from the phone became somehow even louder, and Rio’s eye twitched as she brought the phone back to her ear, unmuting it. She waved at Noir as she turned, voice now deceptively calm as she began speaking once more.

Noir frowned, heading back into the house. Normally, he would love this rare opportunity to sit out in the sun, but without someone - without Peter - to do it with, there wasn’t really as much of a point. Besides, it probably wouldn’t be best for May for her neighbors to see a grayscale man just lounging on her patio.

Noir made to stop by Peni and Ham, but decided against it at the last moment, instead veering off towards his room again. He felt odd, some mixture of tense and anxiety slowly building inside him at Peter’s absence. It seemed to increase with every step he took, and Noir barely made it to the door in time, closing it hard and pressing his back against it, struggling to breath in.

Peter wouldn’t leave without telling him. He _couldn’t_.

_“But what about when I can’t keep moving forward? What about when I slide back?”  
“I’ll be there for you then, too.”_

Peter had _promised_.

And Noir was sliding back. Hard.

He couldn’t think straight, everything getting blurred together in his head. His breathing kept picking up speed, and he was vaguely aware of sliding to the ground, back pressed against the wooden door. Peter was gone, he had left, and Noir couldn’t think of Peter without seeing him looming over him, cigarette in hand, waiting to make him scream - but _that wasn’t Peter_ , or at least Noir didn’t _think_ it was. Right?

Noir needed Peter here. He needed Peter to smile and stand there and _offer his hand_ and Noir would _know_ he was good. And even though Noir already _knew_ that he couldn’t quite seem to make himself believe it.

Noir needed Peter here now, but peter _wasn’t_ and Noir didn’t know what to do.

Peter had not left him, except when he had asked. But now, now Peter was gone.

Noir was being selfish. Of course Peter had left - Peter had things to do, his own universe to protect. Noir was a grown adult, he was supposed to be able to take care of himself. He wasn’t in danger of bleeding to death anymore, so of course Peter had left. He was no longer needed, and there were other people - better people - that he had to protect, too.

Noir sucked in a breath, feeling his lungs burning from misuse. His hands had torn holes into his shirt - it wasn’t even his, it had been gifted and he had damaged it, now he couldn’t even have basic decency to not destroy things when e was upset, what kind of person was he suppised to even be, this was a mess and it wasn’t fine, nothing was fine, everything was falling apart and it was no one’s fault but Noir’s.

It was Noir’s fault his brain kept telling him Peter was Fisch.. It was Noir’s fault he couldn’t handle Peter leaving, even though Peter had more important things to do than worry about him.. It was Noir’s fault Peter had even stayed with him so long as he did.

Noir should have told Peter he could return to his universe the moment he was no longer in imminent danger - if only to assuage Peter’s guilt at leaving.

Of course Peter had left. It was the right thing for him to do.

But Noir couldn’t stop the tears from falling, and his shaky sobs from escaping, anyway.

After all, as Fisch had proven, Noir wasn’t capable of keeping himself from crying out.

\-----

Peter grinned, tucking two, albeit slightly water damaged, webshooters into his pocket. Having successfully recovered them, he knew Noir would feel better about them not being in enemy hands. Granted, they were actually pretty easy to find, once Peter finally found the actual dock in question - the kid’s directions had been helpful to an extent, but eventually Peter had to just straight-up ask some random people.

He was sure the “coppers” were going to hear several reports about a weird-looking dude asking about a murder.

But that didn’t really matter.

Peter checked around as he entered an alley, before switching on his transporter. He stepped through, grin still in place, materializing right inbetween Gwen, Miles, and May, knocking over a pile of cards.

“Seriously?” Gwen moaned, “I was going to win that!”

“Sure you were.” May replied, smile quirking at the edge of her lips, quietly amused.

Miles shrugged, before asking, “Where’ve you been, man? Noir came by, he was looking for you.”

“I was recovering these.” Peter pulled out Noir’s black webshooters.

“Ohhh.” Miles whispered, slightly horrified, “I hadn’t even thought of that. Did they-?”

“No one had the chance to replicate them. At least, as far as I can tell.” A pause. “Noir was looking for me?”

“Yeah.”

“I should go and, uh, see what he wanted.”

“Yeah. Afterwards, you guys can play cards with us. May’s been cleaning us both out.” Gwen replied.

Peter walked past the kitchen, noticing an absurd amount of black smoke coming out of it, and hurried towards it.

As he did so, he heard Ham loudly exclaim, “Of course we smoke the pies! How else do you get it to taste like peaches?”

Peter poked his head in, eyes watering. “Is Noir in here?”

“No.” Peni replied, voice slightly muffled from a mask over her face. “He was looking for you, though.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

Peter walked further down the hall - maybe Noir had gone back to his room? That was the most likely case, as Noir still hadn’t quite made the jump to interacting with multiple people at once.

Peter went to open the door, but it didn’t budge. Something was blocking it.

He knocked, and heard shuffling, before the door opened.

Noir was staring at him, pale face tinged gray, glasses trying and failing to cover up gray-stained eyes. His breathing sounded off, and the shirt he was wearing had holes ripped in it, threads being pulled out.

“Noir-?” Peter asked, stepping towards him.

Noir practically jumped back, hands rising slightly as if to defend himself. His chest rose and fell even faster, and his entire body seemed to be shaking slightly.

“Noir…” Peter raised his hands in surrender, but Noir flinched back, so he dropped them. “What happened?”

“You left.” Noir choked out, “You left and I kept seeing Fisch - I couldn’t find you but I saw you but you were _him_ and I couldn’t- I wasn’t-”

Peter felt his blood run cold. He had left, and now Noir thought he had _left_.

“It’s okay, Noir. I’m back. And I’m not leaving again, not until you want me to. I just had to take care of something, now I’m here.”

Noir seemed to force himself to relax, shoving his hands to his sides. “Where… did you return home?”

“No.” Peter pulled out the webshooters, again. Noir’s eyes widened at the sight of them, and he seemed to go completely still. “I went back to get these for you. So that the Naz- so that no one else could get them.”

“You… went back there?” Noir asked slowly. “To get those?”

“Yes?” Peter was confused. Noir seemed entirely too… calm, right now. He had been panicking, and now he was just… still.

Noir looked up at Peter, eyes on him but seeming to see elsewhere. “I’m not going to fix them for you.”

“I- what?”

“I’m not going to show you anything.”

“I don’t need you to, Noir.” Peter frowned. “It’s just me. Peter. I just wanted to give these back to you. Because they belong to you.”

“Peter. Right.” Noir nodded to himself. “Peter is good.”

“Noir… are you okay? I think I should get Rio-” Peter made to turn around.

“No!” Noir reached out to grab Peter’s arm, before stopping himself. “Don’t leave. Please. I can’t… if you leave again, I won’t be able to keep thinking. Peter, I kept seeing you as him and I didn’t want to but I couldn’t stop and now you’re here and you’re good and,” Noir grabbed Peter’s hand, holding it up in front of Peter, “Your touch doesn’t feel like _his_ but if you leave I can’t stop thinking of you being him and I don’t want to. _I love you_ , Peter, but my head keeps telling me you want to hurt me but I know you don’t. I know you don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love confession!!!!!
> 
> Also know last chapter was rough, it was setup for the ~love confession~ so I hope that that makes up for it.


	27. Chapter 27

Peter’s brain short-circuited.

Noir said that he…

No. No, Peter must have misheard because Noir was so wonderful and so incredible and how could he ever love someone like _Peter_.

Noir was sharp, edged in hard steel. Peter was blundering, and _soft_. Noir wasn’t supposed to fall for a guy like him.

It didn’t make sense.

Peter never got what he wanted - why was that suddenly supposed to change now? Peter was fine pining after Noir for the rest of his life, that was fine, but this… 

It didn’t make sense at all.

But Noir had said it, and Peter was just staring, agape, at Noir.

Who was turning progressively grayer as Peter didn’t respond, fingers flitting up to pick at his rapidly fraying shirt hem.

Peter closed his mouth, then opened it again to speak, but found he had no idea what to say. This was like a dream come true, Noir had said _he loved him_ but it didn’t make sense because Peter’s dreams weren’t supposed to be reality and Noir would never actually say that. Not about him.

Noir was the one who broke the silence, blushing furiously. “Sorry, I was… panicking a bit, didn't mean to say that.”

Oh. Of course. Peter’s heart sank. Noir hadn’t meant that, or maybe he had meant it generally, platonically, didn’t want to lose Peter as a friend, something like that. Peter had just managed to keep his face from breaking, like his heart was currently attempting to do, when Noir spoke again, quieter.

“I meant to say that better.”

“Say… better?” Peter’s brain was stuck, spinning its wheels helplessly.

Noir reached out, taking one of Peter’s hands with both of his own, and staring Peter directly into the eyes, searching.

“I love you, Peter. And…” Noir swallowed hard, “I almost lost you. You could’ve died in my universe, could’ve been lost forever. Could've been lost to me. And I don’t want to lose you without telling you how I feel.” Noir laughed nervously, fingers twitching slightly, “Of course, it’s okay if you don’t feel that way, but it’s just… I wanted you to know. If you’re upset, I promise, I won’t let it change anything, and if you still want to be… teammates, I promise not to make it-”

“No.” Peter shook his head.

Noir’s gaze dropped to the floor, and he drew back carefully, stiffly. “I see. If you prefer, I could… give you more space, and-”

“No, I…” Peter tried to think, tried to articulate. “I don’t want us to just go back to being teammates, I… I love you, too. It’s just… I didn’t think you’d want me.” It sounded pathetic, coming out of his mouth like that.

Noir’s eyes flicked back up to Peter’s, wide and confused. “Not want you?" He shook his head, "Peter, you’re perfect. You’re everything there is in the world, you’re everything I’ve ever cared for… I’ve wanted to be near you, be with you, for so long. And all it took to get the guts to say it was a little bit of torture? Not too bad of a trade off, frankly.” Noir added with a little grin.

Peter frowned. “If I’d said something earlier, maybe that wouldn’t have happened."

Noir’s smile faded. “That doesn’t matter, Peter. I’m just glad you’re with me, now.”

Peter took his free hand, reaching out slowly towards Noir, brushing his hand against Noir’s cheek, Noir leaning into the touch.

“I’ve loved you for so long.” Peter breathed, stepping closer so their chests just barely brushed. Noir moved one of his hands to Peter’s shoulder, other one still holding their hands, linking them together.

And then, Peter’s lips were meeting Noir’s.

It was chaste, simple, and lasted only a few seconds.

It was the best kiss Peter had ever had in his life.

Noir raised an eyebrow. "That's all you got?"

Peter flashed him a grin, before pulling him back in for another kiss.

Noir was all hard lines and stiffness, cut from metal and made of steel. But he absolutely melted in Peter's arms, desperate to touch and be touched and _feel_. It was a filthy kiss, edged with a shared desperation to _not let go_. Peter’s hand slipped from Noir’s cheek to his hair, running his fingers through it as they kissed.

Noir moaned into Peter’s mouth, and then pulled back.

“Noir,” Peter asked, worried, dropping his hands and breaking contact. “Are you okay? Did I trigger something-?”

“No, it’s just,” Noir seemed absolutely struck. “Do that again.”

“Yeah?” Peter checked.

"Yeah."

Peter was more careful this time, taking it a bit slower. Noir seemed eager, but Peter was wary of scaring Noir. He was careful to keep his hands above Noir’s neck, not wanting to trigger flashbacks, and was eager to fulfill Noir’s request, slipping his hands through Noir’s hair, dragging slightly.

Noir moaned again, and this time, pushed even further against Peter, almost colliding with him as he ran his hands down Peter’s back. Peter grinned at that, but his grin faded as he noticed that Noir’s hands were a little bit trembling, sensing some levels of anxiety, and he broke the kiss again, taking a step back.

Noir whined at the loss of contact, almost trying to follow Peter’s motion but not wanting to invade his space, either.

“Noir, are you okay?” Peter asked.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Noir tried to step forwards, but Peter shook his head, and Noir stopped.

“You seem a bit… shaky.” Noir seemed to sway in front of him, as Peter frowned. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, and Noir sighed. “Just… I’m a bit tired. But,” He quickly added, “I don’t want to stop this.”

“We have plenty of time.” Peter shrugged. "And I'm not going to do anything until you are ready for it."

“I don’t want you to leave, again.” The words were whispered softly, brokenly. “You left when I slept, and I had… I kept seeing…” Noir shook his head angrily at himself. “Sorry, of course, you can go if you want to.”

Peter felt his heart constrict. “No, Noir. I’m staying right here. I’ll be here. I’m not leaving you.” Peter sat down on the floor, leaning the back of his head against the blackened couch, and reaching out to Noir to lay down beside him. “I’m never going to leave, unless you ask me to.”

Noir laid down beside Peter, slowly, hesitantly. Peter, now, could see the exhaustion Noir had been trying to hide, sleep gathering around his eyes, tiredness seeping into his bones.

Peter took Noir’s hand, kissing it. “I’ll be right here, when you wake up.”

Noir nodded, before closing his eyes.

At some point, his breathing evened out, and Peter found himself still holding Noir’s hand.

There was no way this was real. Maybe a fever dream. Peter stared down at Noir, heart bursting with warmth. This may be a dream, but he was going to try to revel in it for as long as possible. He never wanted to wake up.

Peter wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at Noir, absolutely awestruck, before Noir began trembling. The trembling soon turned into twitching, and Peter sat up straighter, rubbing Noir’s hand soothingly.

Then, the twitching was joined by small, agonized sounds of pain, and Peter decided to act.

“Noir? Noir, wake up.” Peter shook Noir gently, careful to let his fingers avoid the healing injuries that littered his body.

Noir sat up with a gasp, momentarily flailing, ripping his hand from Peter’s light grip, panting for breath, disoriented.

“It’s okay, Noir.” Peter spoke calmly, “It was just a dream. It’s Peter, I’m here. I’m not leaving you, I’m here.”

Noir looked up to Peter, shaking, and whispered, in a hoarse voice, “Peter?”

“Yeah, I’m here. It’s me.”

Noir let out a whine, before lunging forward, wrapping his arms tight around Peter’s midriff, burying his face into his chest.

Peter was momentarily taken aback, frozen, before he dropped one hand to his own leg, other one to Noir’s head, stroking his hair soothingly.

“It’s alright, Noir. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” Peter kept speaking, words of comfort flowing out and washing over Noir, whose shaking died down, until he fell still entirely.

“Sorry.” Noir whispered, not moving.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Peter replied simply. “I’m just glad you’re alright now.”

Noir nodded, too tired to respond, muscles still tense.

Peter just kept stroking Noir’s hair, not once breaking it off, as Noir’s arms fell slack and he fell back asleep.

This time, Noir didn’t wake up screaming, or crying, or panicking.

No, he woke up to the feeling of Peter’s fingers running through his hair, the sound of Peter’s heart beating against his ear, and the sight of Peter’s quietly smiling face staring at him, eyes positively shining with affection.

Maybe this was a dream.

But it was a really, _really_ good one.

And they would both be happy to never wake up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are nearing the end, guys. After this, it's the final chapter, and then this fic is complete!
> 
> Allow me to beg for comments one more time, for the tradition.


	28. Chapter 28

This didn't feel like reality.

Peter had dragged Noir in to May's, bleeding and dying and _broken_ , and now, he was talking to the man beside him. It was as if nothing had happened. 

Well, no, not really. Noir woke up screaming less and less, now, but the crying, the gasping for breath that wouldn't come, and, most sickeningly, the choking cries for Peter to save him from whatever horrors he was reliving in his mind, the broken pleas for it to just stop. The flinching, the sudden absence of all backings of chairs in both of their homes, the light being on - even though Noir could sense things now, he still liked that extra security. That extra guarantee.

Noir, sensing Peter's gaze, looked up, flashing him a slight smile, eyes soft.

Other things had changed, too. When Noir woke up, Peter was beside him, now. Comforting, calming, doing what he could to pull Noir out of it, back to reality. Which, apparently, was this now.

Peter found he often had to initiate the contact, offer his affection, because Noir would not ask for it. But Noir craved it. Like a drowning man, he longed for air, but he refused to reach for it. Even then, when Peter knew Noir wanted contact, Peter would touch him in the wrong spot, or his touch would be too hard or too soft, and it would make Noir freeze up. Even then, though, Noir would not ask Peter to stop - whether it was engrained to resist the act of begging, or if it was his fear that Peter would hurt him, or that he would ask to stop and Peter wouldn't, or _whatever_ the real reason was. Peter would read the signs, and stop touching him. It wasn't perfect, but they were working on it. And Noir was, slowly but surely, getting better about it.

Today was not one of those days. Noir was twitchy, and, as much as he was communicating with the other man, he was clearly a bit uneasy, and his fingers kept picking at his gloves, right below where his webshooters would have been hidden out of sight. Peter knew that physical contact would be unwanted, now.

So, Peter left some distance - not a lot, just enough so that they weren't touching, but close enough that he hoped it conveyed that Peter cared.

Damn, did Peter care.

Noir's hands dropped from his gloves to the hem of his shirt, the twitchiness of his fingers more pronounced as he lifted it up.

"Noir, you don't have to rush." Peter said quietly, "We can take as long as you need."

Noir nodded tightly, before pulling off his shift in one, fluid motion. The coat had been left back at Peter's apartment, for convenience's sake - after all, they were going there right after - and Noir carefully folded and placed his shirt to the side. 

Noir’s injuries were healed up, and while the scars were there, Noir had said they didn’t seem much worse than they had before. Only a few new scars littered Noir’s body, namely the gash down his side, which healed up mostly well except for the twisted space at his hip, as well as a gouged spot on his shoulder, a few burns on his neck that Noir said blended to look like freckles - and they did, sort of. His chest was bare, and Noir folded his arms self-consciously over the scarred, engraved swastika in his shoulder.

"You don’t have to see- you don’t have to look at them.”

Peter shook his head, stepping forwards and approaching Noir, reaching out. Noir, after a moment's hesitation, took his hand. Only the pressure with which he held it let Peter know how desperately he wanted the contact in that moment.

“I love you, Noir. And these scars don’t bother me. I’ve got plenty.” Peter shrugged.

Noir looked hesitant. “You… aren’t bothered, by it? By the…” Noir gestured at the swastika wordlessly, unable or unwilling to say it aloud, "It's going away, you don't have to see it before... it gets changed.

“When I look at you, all I see is Noir. It doesn’t matter what it is, I don’t care.” Noir looked skeptical, and Peter reached out, placing his hand over Noir's which was still covering it. “It does not matter. All that matters, the only thing that matters, is you. I wouldn’t care if every inch of you was covered in them. You didn’t want it, and I’m not going to punish you for that.”

Noir looked relieved, hand coming up to rest over Peter’s.

“Thank you.”

It sure was convenient that Miles' universe had tattoo parlors, too.

“It’ll leave a patch of color on me, even when I’m in my universe.” Noir said simply, “And it’s this, or I’m taking a knife to it. I don’t want that symbol on my body. Ever.”

Peter hadn’t protested after that, and instead merely scheduled a private appointment with a tattoo artist.

Noir ended up wanting a red and blue spider that Miles had drawn - which the tattoo artist liked, until Noir showed what scar he wanted covered up. Although, considering the various other scars littering Noir’s chest, they clearly thought better of saying anything.

Peter made sure to leave them an excellent tip.

And then Noir had a new bandage covering the same spot as before.

It didn't cover up a gaping, bleeding wound, though.

Quite the improvement. In Peter's opinion.

Another step forwards. Some were easier than most.

A few days later, Noir was shyly showing his new tattoo to Miles - who had admitted to Peter that he was secretly relieved that the ink hadn't turned gray on Noir - when Peni bounced in, handed Peter a box, face red, and scurried back out. Noir glanced up, eyebrow raising.

Peter smiled brightly back at him, handing him the box. The fact that Noir took it without a second thought made Peter's heart soar. “Now, then, I know that you’ve been busy, so I had Peni repair your webshooters. You can get back in the field, now, as soon as your spidey sense is back.”

“But it isn’t back yet.” Noir frowned, “I’ve healed, but it’s still gone.”

“I know.” Peter replied sadly, “But it should return at some point.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Noir asked suddenly, “What if I’m stuck like this forever? How am I going to be able to stop the Nazis when I can’t even sense they’re coming!”

Miles glanced between them, and slowly edged out of the room, leaving them be.

“It’ll be alright, Noir.” Peter said soothingly, “Maybe it comes back, which means everything will be fine. And if it doesn’t, you’ll adjust. You’ve already been adjusting now, already been improving-”

“You mean getting used to being blind.”

“Noir…”

“Am I wrong? Everything has been so quiet. I can’t see you, Peter, not properly. I want to see you, sense you, like I could before. I want to touch you,” Noir lifted up their hands, “And be able to feel your pulse, and the electricity on your skin.”

“I’m sorry, Noir. If I knew how to fix it, I would.” Peter sighed, “But, I can’t. We just have to wait.”

Noir sighed, too, frustration ebbing away to exhaustion. “I’d wait forever to be able to sense you, Peter. But I hate waiting.”

Peter kissed Noir gently. An understanding.

It had not escaped Peter’s notice that Noir’s spidey sense was still gone, nor had he missed how increasingly frustrated Noir was getting with its absence.

Noir was adjusting to a life without his spidey sense. But that wasn’t an adjustment that Noir wanted to make.

Peter hoped that Noir’s sense would come back, if only because it was causing Noir so much distress. He didn’t want Noir to be reminded of Fisch every time he didn’t feel something, every time he couldn’t tell or notice something going on.

And, selfishly, Peter knew how touching Noir, kissing Noir made him feel with his spidey sense. He wanted Noir to feel that same way about him.

Peter also knew that, someday, when the sense came back - because it _would_ , Noir would be so, incredibly happy. And Peter wanted Noir to be happy.

As it turned out, that “someday” was a grand total of twenty minutes from then.

And it wasn’t even anything special. No dramatic moment, no intense realization. No.

Noir was just sitting on the couch upside down, feet over the top, staring off into space. Peter was staring at Noir absentmindedly, reveling in Noir’s presence, when Noir frowned.

“Peni’s coming back.”

“What?” Peter looked up. He could sense Peni approaching, but he didn’t hear-

“Wait!” Noir sat up straight, nearly falling off the couch. “Wait, wait, hold up, hold up, what the fuck, hang on, shit, wait, fuck-”

Which also happened to be how Peni learned several new swear words.

The moment Peni backed out of the room, confused at the sheer amount of word choices being used, Noir shot to his feet. “It’s back! I can sense everything, I can…” Noir turned to Peter, eyes bright, grinning like a maniac.

“Peter… I can sense you.”

Peter was on his feet in an instant, holding out his hand. Noir took it eagerly, before kissing Peter, hard. The sheer amount of passion, of love, was overwhelming, and when Noir finally pulled back, he looked on the brink of tears.

“I love you, Peter.” He whispered, before diving back in, Peter trying to telegraph just how much he loved Noir into his kiss.

Judging by how Noir positively groaned, it worked.

And, if the return of Noir’s spidey sense was announced with bruised lips and sudden prolonged physical contact, everyone was polite enough to pretend not to notice.

After that, it was quickly decided that Noir was good to go, and the team, with some coaxing, went back to their own dimensions. They had their own cities to save, after all.

They took it slow, Noir still tentative to touch, even now with his spidey sense back, and Peter didn’t mind waiting. He was happy to spend forever with Noir, under whatever criteria that fell.

Noir had improved a lot. He could pull himself out of flashbacks pretty well, now, although it was always harder in his own universe, and Peter was there to help him if he struggled. His love of being touched and held began to outweigh his fear of it, and Peter found himself hugging and cuddling more and more. Not that he minded - Peter was overjoyed, in fact, the first time Noir made the first move to cuddle with him on the couch of his apartment.

It was progress.

Noir would latch onto Peter more and more, instead of trying to hide after he woke up, and Peter got better at calming him. At even getting him out of the nightmare without waking him up. It was improving, over time. It was imperfect, but it was getting better.

Peter knew that Noir would never be “okay”. It just wasn’t in the repertoire. Not for either of them. Peter knew he had woken up in a cold sweat from failing to save a child here, a civilian there. And Noir knew what to do then, too, offering comfort and solace through touch and soothing words.

But just because Noir was never going to be okay, didn’t mean that his growth wasn’t worth celebrating. Peter counted every night they both slept soundly a victory, every time Noir managed to pull himself out of a flashback a success. It was a million little moments adding up to make a bigger step forward.

Going back to his universe for the first time had been a difficult step. Splitting up from Peter for a day on a mission had been a difficult step.

One of the easiest steps, though, was going back to May’s for the weekly hangout.

The first few Fridays after the one were postponed, mainly because everyone had such a sheer amount of work they had to catch up on in their respective universes. It was four Fridays past, before they finally had everything under control enough to stop by May’s. Peter and Noir stepped out into the universe together, hand in hand. The others had already gathered there, and their faces lit up when they saw the pair. Gwen elbowed Miles, who slipped her a $20 when they thought no one was looking.

Peni was quick to her feet, pulling Noir and Peter over to sit next to her, while Ham pulled out book after book. Gwen and Miles latched on as well, going through and picking up some, handing some back to Ham.

“You’re learning how to read. No argument.” Peni said firmly, shoving the, presumably Gwen-and-Miles-approved book stack into his arms.

Noir chuckled, sitting down and grabbing one of the top, holding it upside down. “Sure thing.”

Peter sat down next to Noir, one hand reaching up to Noir’s hair. Noir leaned into the touch absentmindedly, as Peni read out the cover, him repeating it, carefully sounding it out.

May handed Peter a cup of tea, which he accepted gratefully.

May stood back, smiling at the sight of all of her children back with her. They are not her Peter. They are a mishmash of different Spiders from all across the multiverse, gathered under her roof to teach a 1930’s, grayscale man how to read Dr. Seuss. They are not her Peter. And she loves them.

Peter was still stroking Noir’s hair. Gwen, Miles, Peni, Ham, Noir, May, and himself, all gathered together on their Friday hangout, same as always. Except it was different, now.

Noir loved Peter, and was loved by Peter.

And, Peter reflected, that meant more to him than anything else in the multiverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, guys. Thank you so much for sticking with this fic for so long! I'm honored by how much you have all enjoyed, supported, and responded to it (and this pairing)! I hope that this fic gave you something entertaining and meaningful, and that you felt touched or impacted by some aspect along the way.
> 
> This has been the longest fic I've ever written, and I am both saddened and ecstatic that it has been completed. Those of you who have been with this fic from the beginning, found it somewhere along the way, or who will find it long after it is complete, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> Thank you all for reading <3


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